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Hey, Do you ever find yourself overcome with the sensation that all around the world, everything is happening at once? Like right now, it’s noon somewhere and midnight somewhere else. Right now, people are dancing, brushing their teeth, being arrested, watching television, falling in love, eating noodles, being born, giving birth, dying, and doing, well, everything. It’s all happening right now at this very moment. Torrents of rain are pouring down in places while others lie under cloudless skies of scalding drought. A turtle is making its way ashore, an owl just spotted an unfortunate critter, and despite their keeper’s best, frustrated efforts, the panda bears just don’t seem all that interested in having sex at the zoo. We start noticing this when we travel — no, not the panda bears — the everything at once. We arrive in some big far off city and see millions of people bustling about, living their lives, working their daily routine, and go, “Oh wow, it’s all happening here too.” I’ve encountered this sense many times, docking a cruise ship among east coast cities as a deckhand, wandering about places like Sydney and Hong Kong on layovers, climbing different yet same mountains in North America, New Zealand, and Nepal, residing on beaches in Mexico, Hawaii, and Cambodia… The feel of everything is happening at once is gained and grows through travel. In contrast, with a shifting market, my buddy and I’s real estate photography business continues to boom and I worked the first twenty-three days straight this June. On the twenty-fourth, I was fortunately able to hop on a plane to Denver, borrow a car, picked up some great friends, and drive up into the Rocky Mountains for four days to celebrate the summer solstice and take a bird’s eye view at this midpoint of the year. My time in Phoenix had been quite repetitive, the scope of my experience small and concentrated. Then, suddenly, I’m at 9,700ft in elevation breathing cool, fresh Rocky Mountain air, chasing rainbows, talking philosophy, running dirt roads, ingesting psychedelic substances, and hot tubbing on the porch of an A-Frame cabin in unobstructed view of the Milky Way examining life with a wondrous group of friends. We talked a lot about intentions during our gathering. Looking forward, my friend Alex’s main intention was to “show up” more, which I didn’t fully grasp the implications of until I rediscovered a little scrap of paper (which has already spawned an article) at the bottom of my bag the following morning, a quote I penned while hanging with one of my great author heroes, Ed Buryn, last fall:
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