Mixed Day

The Dance of Permanence and Change

SESIG this morning brought its familiar rhythm of four minds wrestling with complex ideas, the particular satisfaction of problems examined from multiple angles. There's something grounding about these regular gatherings—intellectual companionship that persists regardless of what else shifts in the world.

Photos demanded attention throughout the day in that patient way unfinished work does, calling from the digital archives like voices from recent adventures. Between other tasks, I'd return to the screen, processing memories pixel by pixel, each image a small act of preservation against the relentless forward motion of time.

The Minecraft server chose today to demonstrate its own version of impermanence—wedged in digital limbo, requiring the kind of troubleshooting that bridges virtual and real-world problem-solving. Even our escapes into perfect control occasionally remind us that nothing, not even fantasy worlds, runs forever without maintenance.

The walk near Bald Hill became an unexpected classroom, the Find Your Fitness podcast transforming a simple constitutional into graduate-level education on insulin resistance. There's particular pleasure in learning something genuinely useful while doing something inherently good for you—knowledge and movement combining into something greater than either alone.

But today served up its most dramatic lessons in the economics of change. The good news arrived in the form of development plans for the area below my house—a future that looks surprisingly thoughtful. Just a few houses between me and Walnut, the rest replanted with new trees. The heavy emphasis on conifers makes practical sense, though I find myself wondering if there's room to advocate for more deciduous variety, more seasonal drama in the canopy. And perhaps, if I'm lucky, occasional access to my own backyard through whatever pathways emerge. Sometimes the best outcomes happen when you simply ask.

The bad news came with corporate inevitability: my neighborhood Starbucks is closing. Years of routine, of being known and recognized, reduced to a spreadsheet decision made by people who've never walked down my hill for their morning coffee. It's a perfect case study in why corporations that prioritize metrics over community deserve whatever decline they're courting. The morning ritual now becomes one of divestment—emptying the card, closing the account, redirecting loyalty toward businesses that understand the difference between customers and community members.

The evening brought restoration in the form of Tim, Michael, Mary, and Cathy—good company around good conversation. The Burning Man debrief provided its own entertainment: tales of adventure that met expectations precisely because they embraced the beautiful chaos of impermanence. There's something perfect about hearing stories of a temporary city while processing my own small experiences with things appearing and disappearing.

Tonight I'm sitting with the fundamental paradox that framed the entire day: impermanence brings both loss and possibility. The Starbucks closes, but the development might create something better. The Minecraft server fails, but walks provide unexpected education. Routines end, but new patterns emerge. Everything changes, nothing stays the same, and somehow—in the space between disappointment and possibility—life continues to surprise us with its capacity for both destruction and renewal.

Some days you get to practice accepting what you cannot control while working toward what you can influence. Today was decidedly one of those days.

From today's walk.