How I Quit Vaping Nicotine

I have a confession…

For just over three months this year, I was addicted to nicotine vaping. This is a confession because I went through it mostly in silence and shame. I’m writing this to share what happened, why, and how I quit for good.

It started out as stress relief, an easy dopamine hit. I gave it a try during a particularly stressful period, and found I really liked the flavor of some of the more icy or mint-flavored vapes along with the rush of the nicotine. I wasn’t particularly worried about getting hooked in the beginning. Over the decades of being an adult, I’ve had pipes, cigars, the occasional cigarette, and had even tried chewing tobacco and snuff in my younger years. Nothing had ever stuck in terms of nicotine addiction.

Vaping this time felt much different. As I narrowed down my preferred flavors and vape manufacturers, week after week I found myself going to the store to get replacements. I went from buying one at a time to getting deals on two or three because I knew I’d go through them. My lungs took a hit, and I found myself struggling with stairs I take daily. Aside from the occasional hike, I did fewer physical activities, and like many addicts, the daily activities of my life like work and home life re-centered around when my next vape break would be.

All of this in under three months

I also went through it quietly, feeling shame for letting something like this grab hold of me, while at the same time enjoying the easy crutch the habit was affording me. I’ve previously joked I don’t get addicted to things easily (although with my late ADHD diagnosis I’ve learned my real addiction is to dopamine), but this one got me; hook, line, and sinker. I knew if I kept at the pace I was going, I was doing more damage to my body, and the lifestyle changes I was going through would take an additional compounded toll. I knew I needed to quit.

An opportunity to quit

About two months ago, I had a work trip to Toronto, Canada. Going into the trip, I didn’t plan in advance on using it to quit vaping, but the thought crossed my mind. Since I was flying internationally, I chose not to take any vapes with me on the flight, and looked up vape shops near my hotel, planning to go to one after my flight got in. The first night I got to Toronto, I looked up a place to eat, left the hotel planning to run by a vape shop and get dinner, but then just never went to a vape shop.

The beautiful thing about travel is it allows us to break from day to day life. A new environment can help break or establish habits. I pushed myself into my work plan for that week, and spent my off hours either at the gym, hot tub and pool, or exploring the west end of Toronto. Focusing on work those three days helped me push through the initial symptoms of nicotine withdrawal, along with taking some Aleve for the headaches.

Those three days were hard, but I was able to use work as a benefit. It turned out to be a successful trip in part because of quitting vaping that week.

As I prepared to go home, I thought about how to keep the momentum of the work trip when coming back to Portland. I thought about where I kept the various vapes in my car and at my desk, and what my plan should be if I really wanted to leverage the opportunity to quit. I read about the after effects of vaping beyond the initial nicotine withdrawal – articles were saying more withdrawal symptoms would occur over the next several weeks. Thinking the initial nicotine withdrawal symptoms would be the worst of it, I decided to go ahead with quitting.

Coming home quitting

When I got back to Portland, I purged everything related to vaping. Before I left the airport, I threw away the vapes stashed in my car. When I got home, I trashed the vapes and nicotine in my room and took the trash out immediately. I set myself up for success by getting rid of everything easily accessible. I shared with those close to me I quit. I couple of people didn’t even know I had started it – I had hidden the habit from general knowledge. Then, I settled in for the long haul of quitting.

Although the physical withdrawal symptoms from nicotine last about three days or so, I had stronger withdrawals and cravings for over three weeks from quitting. Working at my desk at home or my office are where the cravings would hit the most. The urge to get up for a vape break or get a quick dopamine hit from the vape was there for weeks. Driving past some of the shops I used to get vapes from was another challenge. About week three, I was even feeling the taste of it in my throat and lungs during normal day to day activities. These symptoms around week three were worse than the initial symptoms I went through on days two and three!

I have never experienced any similar effects from any other substance in my life. Not alcohol, not cannabis, not giving up meat when I was a vegetarian, nor from any other drug or activity. Quitting nicotine vaping, even though I was only doing it for three months or so, has been the most difficult thing to quit I’ve ever been through in my life.

At one point, I thought about alternatives. On one trip to Target the second week I looked at the nicotine gums and patches. I worried that since I was past the initial physical effects, they wouldn’t really be a fix for the cravings I was going through at week two, and that they’d just be something that would kick off the addiction again. I chose not to use any of those products, and it turned out to be the right choice for me.

Transitioning to long term abstinence

Toward the end of week three, the cravings finally eased up. I’m at the start of week 7 now, and I’m happy to report they’re mostly gone. I’m feeling a lot better. I picked up strength training again a few weeks ago, hike and take walks regularly, and the stairs I go up daily are easy again. My lungs and throat are back to what feel normal, and the other effects I was experiencing while vaping are gone. Thankfully, I also managed to lose weight while quitting, which is another challenge people usually face when dropping nicotine.

Final thoughts

I didn’t plan ahead quitting cold turkey, but it turned out to be the right way for me. I do not want to imagine the toll vaping would have taken had I kept at it long term. This was just over three months. If you’re caught up in this and need to quit, if you’re able, start with a trip for the first three or four days at least. Get out of the usual day to day, let yourself go through those initial symptoms, and have plenty of activities around for distractions through the physical nicotine withdrawals.

Vaping nicotine didn’t add anything to my life, and had started to take a lot more. I’m not going to get into the politics of if it should be legal or not, but I can say from my own experience and opinion, it is the worst habit I have ever started. If you can get on without it, it’s best to quit and better to never start it at all. Best wishes to anyone struggling with it now.

If Kamala Isn’t Black, I’m White.

When you’re biracial, people sometimes say dumb things, like asking what you are in the crudest terms possible, or saying you aren’t black. I’ve written before about the One Drop Rule and its history in the US. Mixed race people across the skin color spectrum have been categorized as black throughout history.

Here’s another fact: there are some Indians who identify as black. Not African-American, but black by skin tone and impact of history on their social structure. From what I know about Indian history, it’s hard for me to argue otherwise.

In any case, Kamala is black. She is of African descent through Jamaica, and while I don’t know the personal effect of her Indian heritage on her identity, she has participated in black society and black culture throughout her life, and personally identifies as black. She has the genetic and cultural claim to do so, and has been so for her entire life.

What Trump said about Kamala suddenly being black was dumb. Not just dumb in an ill-informed way, but dumb in the way he has no basis to question her racial identity, and I predict it will be to his detriment to have done so. That he feels he has any kind of authority to make that claim may be the dumbest aspect of it all.

So if anyone out there wants to agree with Trump that Kamala’s not black, drop in the comments and tell me I’m not black. I’m of similar mixed heritage. Lay out your claim that I’m white. Let’s see how it turns out for you.

Guest on Nope! We’re Not Monogamous Podcast

I recorded an episode for the Nope! We’re Not Monogamous podcast earlier this year, and it came out today!

If you watched it, and you’re here, welcome! If not, here it is:

Things are pretty busy at the moment, but feel free to follow me here, and get more frequent updates at these other places:

https://www.instagram.com/alex_cox/

https://www.facebook.com/lalexcox/

Thanks,

Alex

On Juneteenth

Today is Juneteenth. Several people who aren’t Black Americans descended from slaves have asked me to how to celebrate Juneteenth, and I haven’t really had a good answer for them. I know many will tell me it’s not my place to do this labor for them. Yet, as I get older, I see fewer people like me willing to do so. If we don’t share our stories and perspective with others, no one else will, so I’ll take a swing at this. Bear in mind, this is my perspective. I’m not writing this in a stone tablet for you, it’s just a suggestion.

To me, Juneteenth is a holiday where we as Black Americans descended from slaves gather to recognize where we come from and celebrate each other, our lives, our stories, and what we have done with the freedoms we have won and continue to fight for.

Even writing about Juneteenth in today’s culture is loaded with weight from media intended to obscure truth and actively fight against empathy. Empathy doesn’t mean you have to feel guilt over things you didn’t do. It just means you can feel compassion for people experiencing something you don’t. When I look at things like the so-called war on woke, I see it really as a war on empathy.

Woke is a term I first heard in the 90s, and I didn’t understand it at first. I was raised in a predominantly white area. My family largely assimilated, at least in public, to what we consider attributes of whiteness as a matter of survival. Woke was not something said in my family home. In public schools, we didn’t talk about historical redlining. We didn’t talk about current racially discriminatory education funding, voting districts or any number of the issues regarding racial inequality that were currently happening. We talked about it like it was a thing of some long bygone past. Moreover, in my school, we didn’t really talk about Africa. In World Geography we simply didn’t cover it because “we ran out of time”. We didn’t talk about things to the point we could not recognize the continued institutional racism we were still experiencing. It was only when I stepped out of that bubble, gained other perspectives, and learned more about history from more truthful sources, did I learn about the true history and current state of racism.

I struggle to think about how anyone can celebrate the freedom of another without empathy, without the basic ability to place yourself in the life and perspective of another. I’m not saying you have to be Woke to get there, but it starts with empathy. You have to be open to see the world through the perspective of another.

I was raised in a rural mostly white community in southwestern Virginia. The family who raised me was black, but we had taken on so much to assimilate into white culture as a matter of survival the things I learned at school weren’t really questioned. My family didn’t spend a lot of time talking about redlining. We didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about the massive institutional forces that we had struggled against. Instead, we just did the things that we had to do to make ends meet, and my grandfather was particularly good at this.

My grandfather was charismatic, wise, not necessarily book smart – he had an eighth grade education from a segregated school – but he was a lifelong learner. He read the newspaper every day and moreover he talked to people. Through my grandfather’s lifetime he experienced violence, but he also moved the needle for our family. My uncle was the first black baby born on a regular floor in our hospital and not in the basement. My grandfather owned land and houses, and rented those houses out to others. He valued education, and put my uncle and my mom through college and got my aunt started on her life. Then my grandfather helped raise me in a world that had vastly changed from the one he grew up in.

It’s hard for me to talk about Juneteenth without thinking about my grandfather because he also hosted parties at our home for the black community as reunions for the old segregated school that he, my uncle, and my mother attended. Those celebrations usually lined up with Juneteenth. When I was growing up we didn’t celebrate Juneteenth for the sake of being Juneteenth, we gathered together as a community to celebrate each other, the successes that we were finding, and our ability to get educated to move the needle for the next generation.

There also wasn’t a commercial aspect of Juneteenth, there’s not a Santa June who’s going to come around and give your kids presents. We didn’t have the recognition with vacation time, or corporate ads, or special Juneteenth colorways of stuff to buy. It was just the gathering of family and community.

This weekend in my hometown in rural Virginia, someone of my generation pulled together a black community reunion like we had when we were kids. My mother, my uncle, and my aunt attended, took pictures, and saw people they hadn’t seen in years. They shared those pictures and stories with us through social media. Living across the country now, I missed it, and I’m sad I did, because to me Juneteenth is that celebration of community, of gathering to recognize where you’ve been, where you are, and where you’re going. I really want to give a shout out to my old friend Greg who planned that. That is the best way to celebrate Juneteenth, and I don’t know how to share any of that with people who haven’t experienced it quite the way we do in the black community, aside from suggesting that if you’re invited, show up with humility, empathy, and curiosity.

I also talked to my six year old son about Juneteenth for the first time in a way that he could potentially begin to understand his connection to it. We watched a very kid friendly video on Juneteenth and slavery on YouTube. We talked about what a slave was, what they did, and a little of what their lives were like. Then I worked my way up our family tree through my mother’s line with stories, back to my great great grandparents who were slaves – and one slave owner. Being a six year old, he took it in with the aloofness of a child who doesn’t completely understand the severity and complexity of the world. I reflect on that both as a blessing, but also as a first step. As he grows older, as he learns more, as his own ignorance slips away, he will eventually become an adult who has to reason, who has to think about the consequences of his actions, and who has to try and be a good, compassionate, empathetic human being in the world. So today was step one for my son and understanding Juneteenth.

I would say if you want to work to recognize and celebrate Juneteenth, and have no other way, start at my son’s step one. Watch a video on YouTube, read a book, talk to a friend, do something to educate yourself and remove a little bit of ignorance about it from your mind. Reach for empathy and spend some time with it. If you can’t make the cookout, or even if you do, it can’t hurt.

Busy is the life…

I started a new job at the beginning of the year. It’s been fortunate to return back to work and my career as so many people in my field are experiencing layoffs. The macro-economic reasons for this are many, but my own experience in tech has been most people are among the hardest working, most dedicated people I’ve met. It is white-collar work, which many often demean, but it is real work.

I’ve been working to rebalance life accordingly. After a year off, the extra 40+ hours I wasn’t at work was spent well. Refactoring that back into my spare time has compressed it a bit. I’m fortunate to have family, partners, and friends who are understanding of that.

With all that copious spare time, I have slipped in co-founding two separate community groups – a local polyamory social group, Keep Portland Poly; and a local Druidry Seed Group, the Oakheart Druids. Both groups are off to a great start and are growing. Community is important to me, and being able to meet the right people and partners to get these started has been an incredible blessing.

My Druidry practice has continued, and I am at the end of the Ovate grade. In the next week I’ll be taking the necessary steps to move ahead to whatever lies in store next. Living in the present has become easier; I look ahead far less than before, but I smile with glee for what is still to come.

Zefram recently turned 6 years old. He creates continually, whether drawing, writing, telling stories, or just making jokes. He loves to laugh, and I enjoy hearing his laughter and voice echo through our home. Raising him is among the greatest work of my life.

Speaking of, it’s time to get back to him. I’ll catch up later.

The Turning of the Year

Happy New Year!

When did yours begin? When did the last end?

One of the things I have been reflecting on the last few weeks has been how following the Wheel of the Year, the eight seasonal festivals recognizing different shifts through the year, has changed my perspective on the seasons and time. Rarely do these festivals come on a specific day, and even then traditionally begin on sundown the day before, such as Samhain on October 31, and extend to the sundown of the next day. Yet, while we may recognize Samhain, or the solstices or equinoxes happening on one day, the energy and feeling of time of year extend for several days or weeks adjacent.

So it has been for me this year, perhaps more than any before. While the Gregorian calendar has us considering the end of the year on December 31, for me it began approaching the Winter Solstice, or Alban Arthan. I had been quarantined with COVID the week before. The days had already become incredibly short. The nights so very long. Our son was out of school for the year. Christmas and holiday presents were in and under the tree. Friends were celebrating Hanukah. We were already preparing for the events of celebration that would last from December 21st through January 1.

This shift in perspective allowed me to slow down, to the point of getting a true feeling of closing out the year.

Along with it, a couple of other things happened.

The Oakheart Seed Group held its first ritual event, an auspicious milestone given the season. We met and celebrated the end of the year and the beginning of a new one, the first spark of light returning to the land. It was a beautiful first group event, and I look forward to more.

I also got to share my story on OBOD Chosen Chief Eimear Burke’s Fireside Chats on the OBOD YouTube channel. Eimear had originally asked me to do it a couple of years ago, but I didn’t feel ready. I didn’t feel I was at a point where I could snap a line and tell something that felt whole. I still felt like I was under serious renovation. She invited me again a couple of months ago, and with the move and all that happened in 2022, I finally felt ready.

What happened was just over two hours of talking about my life, Druidry, then sharing poetry and a short writing I had published on this blog. Eimear was a wonderful and gracious host, and talking with her was natural. It’s one thing to be open and vulnerable with a couple of people, another to a group, and another still to be with anyone who may watch a video online. So far, I have received complete support from viewers, family, and friends. It has been a kind and gentle validation of my path. I may be back for another episode in about six months to talk about other topics!

This interview kind of snaps the line at the end of 2022, and even this period of transition after moving to Portland. My career break is over, I return to work Monday at a new company. It’s a new year by almost all calendars (I don’t really follow the Lunar calendar, but a significant population of the world does, so it’s on my radar), and slowly, we will be leaving the darkness back into another season of light. I have accomplished a lot this year, and a lot of growth came with it, another step taken.

With that, the new year this year means starting another step. Many things are lined up, and the path ahead as far as I can tell is clear. I know there are going to be challenges, but I believe I’m on the right track. I couldn’t ask for a better beginning for a new year.

If you’re reading this, I hope your new year is lined up well. If it isn’t, that’s ok. The seasons keep turning, and there is always ample opportunity to begin to set things in order. May you find your path, and may you find the right people to walk along with you.

When I get quiet…

This blog is about personal reflections and whatever I feel writing publicly about in the moment. It’s not about personal growth. It’s not about politics. It’s not about building a brand, personal or professional. So there are times I have nothing to say here.

It doesn’t mean I’m silent. It means I’m working on something, most often several things.

A couple of months ago, a partner and I broke up. I did it in a horrible way, and I said things in the process I regret. I don’t say that lightly, because I don’t regret things very often. Usually there is something to learn or take from an experience, but everything I could have learned from it I knew going through it. I just didn’t do better, to my own expectations or any reasonably kind vision of how a breakup should go. So that’s regret.

Part of the last couple of months have been spent processing it, grieving it, and thinking about how I can do better in the future. Apologies, even immediately offered, don’t reconcile pain already caused from cruel things said meant to hurt in the moment. We deserved a better ending than the one I gave us.

The rest of life has come together well in Portland. I have a solid social circle forming. I’m in a regular DnD group. Partnering with others, I’m starting a Druidry seed group. I’m in the hiring process with a couple of different professional opportunities, and hope to have something to announce soon. My son has lost his first tooth, and he’s doing well in school. I’ve explored, hiked, read books, completed another journal, and still doing some other writing as well, thinking about my book project and if I want to pivot it to another format. I’ve written more poetry I need to organize, and heaven help me, maybe get a little more serious about it.

As summer turned to fall, and fall has already begun shifting to winter, I’ve updated my wardrobe for the first time in years with warmer clothes. No more California winters in shorts.

We made it through the election season, all kinds of other turmoil, and I closed my twitter account like many others.

I was worried about moving here, nervous about meeting people and starting a new life. I’m glad I did.

Someday, I’ll Be A Tree

“Because I will someday become a tree.” I began. “When I die, you will plant me in the earth, and I will sprout up into a great tree. My roots will dig deep into the soil, drawing up nutrients and water, spreading out to connect with other trees and life. My trunk will grow big and strong. My limbs and hair will spread and stretch out into branches and leaves to collect the sunlight above, and I will sway in the breeze.” 

I laid down with my son tonight as he was preparing to drift off to sleep. I was on my side, and he rolled over to look at me…

“Daddy, you look like wood,” he said. I opened my eyes to his gleaming smile. 

“Really?” I replied, surprised, but thinking about how we had talked about our brown skin, and why it is different than other people. 

“Yeah, why do you look like wood?” he asked.

“Because I will someday become a tree.” I began. “When I die, you will plant me in the earth, and I will sprout up into a great tree. My roots will dig deep into the soil, drawing up nutrients and water, spreading out to connect with other trees and life. My trunk will grow big and strong. My limbs and hair will spread and stretch out into branches and leaves to collect the sunlight above, and I will sway in the breeze.” 

“You won’t turn into a tree, Daddy.” He laughed, with a big smile on his face at the idea. “If people turned into trees, the trees would have eyes and faces!”

“Maybe I will! Maybe I won’t.” I said to him, as he turned back over in bed. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.” 

“Daddy, do trees talk?” His small, tired voice asked.

“They do, in a few ways.” I said. “Trees talk through the wind, like the air in our lungs across our vocal cords. Their leaves shake and their limbs creak, and they sing a song in the wind. They talk in another, special way too. They talk through their roots, through the soil in the ground, with each other, and with other plants. If one tree is in need, they send food and water to them. When another tree dies, that tree gives its nutrients to the others so they live on. Trees talk with each other all the time! When I am a tree, you can always come to me to talk. You can sit under my shade and listen to my leaves. You can touch the soil under your fingers and know I am part of it, and the whole Earth loves you.”

By that time, however, my son was asleep, possibly dreaming of his dad made of wood. 

Pronouns Are Basic Respect, Not Political Correctness

My mother took a job as a patient’s rights advocate at a mental health facility when I was about 20 years old. It was an old facility, up on the hill over downtown next to the state prison. The pair were largely what our small town in the hills of southwestern Virginia was known for.

She had been a social worker and a drug prevention counselor most of my life. I had spent time in her offices growing up, and was always aware of what kind of work she was doing and why. My mother shared that part of her life with me. So when she took this new job, I asked her what she would be doing.

“It’s my job to be sure people are treated the way they deserve to be treated. If they want to be called Jesus, people should call them Jesus. There are other rights they have, and I help ensure staff comply with them.”

I thought about that a while. Throughout school, we learn everyone’s name from their name tag or how they’re registered. We take for granted the name they give us is the name they wish to be called by, and generally do it with no issue. What if someone wanted to be called by a different name?

I had done the same myself my first two years of college. Growing up, I went by Alex, because that’s what my mother and family called me. In middle school, the name Alex Cox slowed down by the local southern draw became a mocking homophobic slur. So when I started college, I tried out my first name, Lawrence, with others to see how I felt about it. Although people were happy to call me Lawrence, it never felt right to me, so slurs be damned, I switched back to Alex when I transferred to university, and have been Alex since.

It was relatable that someone in a mental health facility might want to be called a different name for reasons apart from a psychological diagnosis. Even if it’s an aspect of their condition, it’s still their right to choose their own name. Everyone deserves to be called whatever they wish to be known by. It’s basic human respect, as well as great manners, to acknowledge another’s identity in the way they choose to present it.

As time passed and discussions of chosen gender pronouns became a more common topic, I realized it was a matter of what I had already learned and experienced. Gender is alongside our names in terms of our identity and presentation. It’s a matter of that same respect to call someone by their appropriate gender and pronouns as much as it is their name. That someone may choose either, and find offense when others don’t acknowledge their chosen name or gender, is natural.

Using incorrect pronouns, dead-naming (calling a transgender person by their former name), or misgendering someone intentionally is rude, disrespectful, and has no place in well-mannered discussion. It has nothing to do with how one may feel about gender issues and deserves any offense taken by others. Even when done unintentionally, over time, it betrays an inflexible mind which cannot adapt to new conditions.

It is easy to show good manners and respect by calling someone by their offered name and pronouns. It is simple acknowledgement of another’s chosen identity, as you would want others to acknowledge and respect your own.

The Last Month of Venturing…

The Chinese Garden at Huntington Library and Gardens

It has been a month since my last post. Here is what I’ve been doing:

The last month I spent much time retracted and journaling. Writing for myself is a little different than writing here on my personal blog, and very different than writing for others. I get a lot of emotional processing done by journaling, and it’s something I suggest for anyone. Personal writing is healing, and the last month I’ve realized how far I’ve come on my journey recovering from past trauma, PTSD, and the negative pressure I placed on myself to counter undiagnosed ADHD.

I spent a week in LA with my partner, enjoying visits to Huntington Library and Gardens, the LA Opera to see Aida on opening night, and the much lauded and admittedly awesome Alamo Drafthouse for The Northman and Everything, Everywhere, All at Once. Our transition to a long distance relationship has been challenging, but this visit really paid off with relaxed enjoyment and connection.

Huntington Library and Gardens is incredible, and well worth the visit! It takes more than a day to see it all. The Chinese and Japanese Gardens are incredible, and the Herb and Rose Gardens were fascinating. The Mapping Fiction exhibition was superb, and the Library Exhibition Hall with a Gutenberg Bible and the Ellesmere Chaucer were uniquely enjoyable. We did not get to see the Australian and Desert Gardens, sadly, nor many of the art exhibits. Notably enjoyable in the Chinese and Japanese Gardens were the Penjing and Bonsai displays.

Chinese Penjing display, a miniature forest landscape

We also visited the last day of the Renaissance Pleasure Faire, my first time there, and I purchased an epic hat from Bat Hatter Dude.

At Renaissance Pleasure Faire with my new hat by Bad Hatter Dude

Coming back to San Jose, my wife and I notified our landlord of our intent to move out by July 31, kicking off the official move. We’re working on cleaning out the house and looking for a place in the Portland, OR, area. It just needs to be somewhere temporary, not a forever home, but cheap enough to get us started and in a location we can enjoy both the city and the surrounding natural beauty.

I’ve started looking at work, thinking about what a return to work looks like. I’m landing on freelance and contract work, maybe some consultant work. Like many, I want more freedom and flexibility from the workplace, and it will be nice to have the flexibility to work from anywhere. I have range from data center hardware consulting, technical writing and communication, to various other content work, so I’m not going to lock myself down to the old niche just yet. However, if anyone needs consulting expertise on data center hardware serviceability or procurement, I’ll be available soon.

I am also catching up with friends before we leave, especially now that I’m out of this shorter period of isolation. It is bittersweet to leave now, especially as I’ve made friends and found community during COVID, in unlikely times. If you’re in the Bay Area and would like to get some outdoor coffee before mid-July, please reach out.

I continue to walk near daily, and I enjoy walking meditation particularly. Walking meditation is a great skill to develop. It provides feelings of harmony with your own little area, seeing the changes from day to day, week to week, particularly in the spring to summer. Summer solstice, what we refer to as Alban Hefin in Druidry, is just around the corner, and it is nice to enjoy the longer days and cool fade to night.

Sometimes my 5 year old joins me on walks, and he is quite the director of photography.

My son asking me to zoom in on this ball from a tree

I usually place pictures from my walks on my Instagram account. Please like and follow there for more.

Thank you for reading these words. Bookmark, and come back again soon. I have plans for this space as I return to work, and it will continue to be the area for personal insights and musings. My book is still in development, and more poetry will be coming.

Until then, may you find and share peace, harmony, and love in your life.