Star-Struck and Floor-Mopping: A Guide to Cosmic Productivity

Sitting on the sand in front of a beachfront bonfire, I looked up. The stars hit me hard and pulled my thoughts into deep space. My brain loves to zoom out so I didn’t fight it. I wandered through galaxies and black holes, still always wondering what it’s all made of. Why is it there?

Something snapped me back to the grains of sand in my toes and massive energy release of the fire. chop wood. carry water.

I don’t believe in a preset purpose. No deity, no external to-do list I can find in a scripture. It’s handy for many, and I honor their beliefs, just not how my wiring works. So, when the universe won’t hand me meaning, where do I shop for it? Curiosity seems like the only store open.

Sometimes the zoom goes full throttle - I picture our entire universe as a single quark inside a bigger universe that itself sits in another. Russian dolls of dark-energy glue and meanings and entities staring up. One vast Collective Puzzle, each nestled and cosmically connected.

Now that kind of zooming can send me straight into an existential tail-spin. I used to have to find someone to help pull me out of it, back down to earth. Lately I’m able to glance at my arm. chop wood. carry water. Find something to be present for. Perspective and presence are like the twin peaks on a bachyard swing set. Put in the work, pump your legs, and you arc higher for a different perspective each time. Feel the seat grab your hips on the downswing and you’re completely present. The swing keeps you tethered to the ground while you test the limits.

I probably zoom out more than most. I zoom in less than I should. Yet every useful action - write this sentence, stack that log - lives right here, right now. The swing’s apex tells me which log to stack next. The cycle, if I can stay tethered, is my new North Star. An amalgam of principles & belief patterns, tailored for the complexity of modern life and ready for the onslaught of AI disruption.