The Weekly Spark: Original Photography & Reflections

​I heard that quote recently and it stuck with me. The speaker was a prepper talking about spending a weekend with his daughter, reminding us that the point of preparing is to enjoy right now, not to spend all our time worrying about later.

I couldn't help but think of Nick and all our fishing trips we enjoyed together. One of his greatest talents was reaching into a tackle box full of old lures, knotted line, and mismatched hooks, pulling something together, and making it work. He didn't need the newest rod or the most expensive bait. He just needed to be on the shore with a line in the water. I'd bring my own gear, but most of the time I'd be watching him—taking picture after picture of a kid who was completely in his element. Those photos still bring it all back, years later.

You know that feeling when you leave a project half-done, or even just leave a book open on the table with two chapters left? It’s like walking around with twenty browser tabs open in your mind at once. Even if you’re only looking at one specific screen, you’re still subtly aware of all those other open windows cluttering the background.

I was watching a video the other day and came across a concept that explains exactly why our brains do this. It’s called the Zeigarnik effect.

The story goes back to the 1920s at a busy café. A researcher noticed that the waiters could remember massive, complicated orders perfectly—but only until the bill was paid. The second the transaction was settled, the memory completely vanished from their minds.

"Later" is a small word that seems harmless on the surface. We often use it in casual conversations, such as "See you later" or "Talk to you later." However, we need to be careful with this word, because if we use it too casually, "later" may never come.

NEW! Sharing both color and black & white photos.

This week’s Spark takes a more reflective tone than previous posts. Last Thursday, I was shocked to learn of the sudden and tragic passing of NASCAR driver Kyle Busch—a fierce competitor and champion in the racing world. He was just 41, leaving behind a wife and two young children, ages 11 and 4.

I usually share photos only in black and white. Color can be a distraction; it tells your brain what to focus on before you truly notice the details. In black and white, you have to slow down and look past the surface to see, for example, the frog blending into the background.
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So why am I including both photos today?

I took this photo at Eagle Island State Park in Eagle, Idaho: a Common Milkweed pod releasing its seeds at the precise moment of bursting. The plant doesn’t have a flight plan or a guaranteed landing zone—it simply opens up and lets the wind take over, trusting movement over certainty.

This photo of my dog Ace as a puppy says it: Be yourself. Ace was always curious, playful, and present, never pretending to be anything he wasn’t. I miss him, but the lesson he taught me still sticks: life is better when you stop worrying about appearances and live. That’s a big part of why I stepped away from social media.

​I came across a quote that captured my attention: “Steady effort but without obvious brilliance.” I don’t recall who said it, but the message stuck with me.

You may notice I’ve been reflecting more on how songs shape my life. Right now, I’m listening to a playlist of rock favorites from the 70s and 80s. “Peace of Mind” by Boston is playing. My friend and I wore out several 8-tracks (remember those?) listening to the debut album, and the title song still stirs many emotions. One verse in particular impacted me then and perhaps even more today: “People living in competition, all I want is to have my peace of mind.”

Sometimes the road provides exactly what you need before you even know you’re going to need it.
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Back in 2017, while I was on my solo bicycle ride across America, I hit a wall in the small town of Eminence, Missouri. The day before the "wall" appeared, I had a chance meeting with a man named Wil and his family. They were incredibly gracious, inviting me to breakfast and seeing me off with Wil's email address. At the time, it felt like a nice gesture; 24 hours later, it became a lifeline.