One moment you are walking on firm ground, the next you are floating on the ISS. When you are on the ground, it has been ages since you have been floating, but when you are floating, it has been a few seconds. The days begin, and they are foreign but anticipated. Winter is here, but then again, not really, is it?

High above us, there is a change in the air. Ten minutes from now, the perpetual November crashes and burns. Quickly reduced to ashes, then covered in a fresh heavy snowfall. Be careful what you wish for.

Once surrounded by the white mental boundaries of our own making, some choices feel out of reach and opportunities present themselves. Nothing has changed; it is my perspective that is undergoing changes. 

I am stepping out under the forever gray sky, there are signs on the roads warning that it is now hours until the cloud overtakes us. I plan ahead as well as I can.  Anticipating and preparing. I realize that I have moved into the open vulnerable space without cover or concealment. 

It is a long trek out onto a bridge that I can only see a few feet out onto. A thick fog wall quickly fades the path ahead into oblivion. There is only one way to the other side, and this is it. The key is to live during this journey, to not wish life away as I take every cautious step on the icy surface.

In past years, warmth came over the airwaves and in crossing paths with good friends. Relief from the space station isolation came about from a hot and chaotic kitchen, testing personal barriers and pushing want into skill.

I went outside yesterday, and the snow has still not arrived.  It occurred to me that I have the opportunity to continue to do the things that I would normally do in the spring.  This is not a chance that I am given hardly ever. Winter can be perceived as a pause, but more importantly regeneration.

I found an old friend that I thought I would never see last night. I found that when I was just 25, I had a deep appreciation for such a friend, and in the 34 years that have passed since, it has only become more precious.

The gray days of the summer deluge have yielded to gray days of autumn, then onto gray days of perpetual November brown, and now rumors of winter. In the perceived oppression, focus and hard work are more important than ever.  In 2021, “There is a Tide” was the theme for the year for me.  Today, it begins to occur to me that it has not changed much when I look at the generational contrasts that exist today.  

The inaction that surrounds us now, and the attitude that things just happen to us, have no place in even a single day for me.  I will not sit idle and let our self-inflicted paralysis overtake me.  It is everywhere and experts carefully play within the delusion, gently holding the arm of those afflicted taking baby steps towards the door that will return them from the fourth dimension.

I wonder so much if this is only because the experts know of no real way to help, so like trying to pilot a vehicle up a snow and ice-covered hill, they feather the accelerator, but back off in micro increments trying to not break traction and lose control of the otherwise insignificant momentum.

I fall back to this mentality sometimes in theory, at least to create a list of accomplishments, to sell myself the idea that I am gaining.  I know that I am and there is a fire in me to make it go faster, but I cannot fall on my old wildcard tactics to create a shock and awe on the days. The theatrics were great but like society today, lack true substance. 

Four days from today, I might look out the window and see a different world, and then again, maybe I will not.