Could This Change Everything For You?
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I recently read “The Worst Hard Time: The Untold Story of Those Who Survived the Great American Dust Bowl” by Timothy Egan. A good read. The book came out in 2006, but I must have missed it while Dawn and I were earlobe deep in what I now recognize as our “best hard time”.
That time when we were parents to little kids. That time when the gaps between the ends seemed as if they would never meet. That time when we thought that who we were was who we would always be. That time when we hadn’t yet realized the difference between a job and a vocation. The best hard times.
I’ve heard it said that nostalgia and hope are thieves of the present, but sometimes I find myself wishing I was still a dad to little kids and willingly sacrifice a bit of the present for a bit of the past. I’m well aware that this little wave of nostalgia I allow to roll over me is going to leave me a little bit sad, but I wade in and let it wash over me anyway.
Perhaps if I allow it to dampen my spirits from time to time it won’t build to an unmanageable level and drown me. Perhaps. I was walking through Walmart the other day, picking up the sort of odds and ends one my age picks up at Walmart…stool softener…antacids…plantar fasciitis insoles…seven-day pill organizer…readers…bag of jerky…dental picks, when I unwittingly waded into the toy section and weathered a rogue wave of nostalgia.
The toy section, the space where many moons ago, our children would disappear into while my wife and I shopped for the sort of odds and ends young families require…Pop Tarts…string cheese…Fruity Pebbles…toilet paper…lots and lots of toilet paper. So it goes. The toy section, a place of enduring hope where you see little kids “just wanting to look” but hoping that if they muster up a sufficiently longing and pitiful look at the object of their desire, that the adult holding the purse strings will take note of their sincere need of the latest plastic prized possession, grant their approval, and pony up the cash.
I know this because I felt that look overcome me as a kid in the Ben Franklin Store in Stanley, North Dakota, and from time to time as a husband when I “just want to look” at guitars, bikes, and 1970 Jeep CJ7s. Same look…different toys.
Lillian Sandberg and Gordy McEvers were right. In 2006, Lillian in her 90s and Gordy in in his 80s, were the oldest woman and man in Lignite, so I interviewed them for a book I helped put together for the 2007 Lignite Centennial celebration. When I asked them, “If you could go back in time, what time would you go back to?” They both said that they would go back to when their kids were young and all still living at home.
That time when money was a little short, but needs were mostly met and wants were often left wanting. That time when, as my mom says, “The days are long, but the years are short.”
What time would you go back to?
So, if you ever happen upon me milling about the toy section of Walmart in a misty-eyed stupor of nostalgia…I’ll be fine…nothing a bit of stool softener won’t remedy.
The best hard times. May you have just enough.
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I’ll be visiting family in Seattle next week, so I’m skipping next week’s newsletter, and will talk to you again the following week :)
This week’s Let’s Know Things is about Ukraine and Iran
This week’s Brain Lenses essay is about Gender Conformity & the pod is about Mental Subtraction
Hobbies are great because you don’t have to invest too much of yourself in them, but you absolutely can if you like, and if you do, you tend to get more out of them.
You can pick up a hobby—say coloring in coloring books or creating monsters with Legos or playing disc golf or performing interpretive dance—and you don’t have to convince a single person to give you money in exchange for your brick-hydra or your pubescence-inspired tap-dance. You can just do it, and keep doing it, and no one has to like what you do or how you do it but you.
I like to think of hobbies as directional play, as while hobbies tend to be fun (or otherwise enjoyable), there’s also room for growth and development. You can build really simplistic Lego monsters with a few dozen pieces, or you can engineer staggeringly large and complex grotesques. You can have a blast at either end of that spectrum, but you can also choose to progress from one side to the other, and you can stop anywhere you like along the way (and if you find a spot you especially like, you can stay there forever without negative consequence).
That directionality is nice because growth and accomplishment can feel good and be fulfilling.
But ‘play’ is also important, here, because most of us don’t play enough: we don’t just mess around, try and do things just for their own sake. Not as adults, anyway. And it’s liberating to have something in our lives that we don’t have to be good at, and in which we can just fumble around in whichever manner feels right at any given moment.
Hobbies can also, sometimes, evolve into other things, including professions.
There’s nothing at all wrong with this when it happens, but most of us will be best served by periodically reminding ourselves that not everything needs to be monetized, and not everything needs to be purposeful (in the sense of goosing some kind of growth metric, or helping us develop in a quantifiable way).
It’s okay just to do and try things, and to have hobbies that help us pass the time, give us an excuse to be around others, and that stoke and sate our curiosity.
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I am exhausted.
It’s a lot of work, getting ready for these Seattle trips. But these past few days I’ve also been knocked flat by whatever this cold/flu/covid thing is that’s going around right now. I thought I dodged it, but it finally got me.
So I’ve been aggressively resting in order to get over it (or bare minimum no longer contagious) by the time I leave for Seattle. But man, not fun.
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Western AI models “fail spectacularly” in farms and forests abroad.


Good News from the American West: Horses, Gravel, and Good Work A great conversation on leadership, a Wyoming horse retreat, new trails (on bikes and careers), and a return to the Colorado River.
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All modern computer code has basically the same purpose: it allows us to write instructions that are intelligible to us humans, but in such a way that our intentions are legible to the machines, which means those intentions can be cleanly translated into binary—the long sequences of 1s and 0s that are these contraptions’ native tongue.
Assembly languages are very low-level and close to that binary in the sense that what the human writes doesn’t require too much translation to be converted.
Other languages, like Python, C++, or Java are higher-level and thus further from binary, but they’re also easier for humans to read and work with.
In this context, ‘higher-level’ basically means ‘more layers of abstraction.’ You start at the foundation (with binary) then go up a level, to something like assembly. Then you go up and up and up, adding more abstraction, hiding more of the computer-optimized complexity and replacing it with human-optimized intelligibility.
More abstraction generally means more people can create and wield digital tools, because you no longer need a doctorate in order to write “Hello, World!” on a computer.
As you move further up to more abstracted languages, then, you make these tools more accessible to more people, and allow more humans to use digital leverage in more intuitive ways.
As a trade-off, though, you lose some of the technical details and peculiarities that folks working in assembly or binary might notice and be capable of fiddling with at an extremely granular level. Your options become in some ways more limited and finite, even as your other capabilities grow.


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