Last night marked the end of daylights savings time, and as such, our clocks were moved back one hour. When I was a kid, I recall quite a bit of effort taking place to make this happen, as my parents would have to manually change each clock in the house by hand. I can remember sitting in public school, and the clock on the wall would suddenly begin it’s manual back-tracking, clicking off minutes by the second until it reached the correct time. These days, most of my clocks are not only digital, but connected to the internet in one fashion or another, and thus intelligent and capable enough to make the update themselves. I simply woke-up this morning, and time had changed.

However, this afternoon while reading in my living room, I began to feel a bit hungry, and looked to the clock on the stove to see what time it was. The clock read 5:30, and so I decided it was probably a good time to start making some dinner. I went to the refrigerator to collect the items I had intended to cook and placed them on the counter. I then decided, as is my custom, to put on some music while I prepared dinner. I walked over to my computer, and as I went to turn on iTunes, I noticed the clock on my computer, which had automatically updated itself over night, read 4:30. The digital clock on the stove, not possessing the intelligence to grasp daylights savings time had not been updated, and thus was now an hour off. I stood there in my apartment, looking at the food upon the counter, and gazing back and forth between the two clocks. Sure, I was hungry – but 4:30 is too early to start dinner. I was reminded once again how false the concept of time truly is.

Last week I was in Maui on vacation – my second trip to the island this year. While I certainly had a wonderful time on my first visit – as I had never been there before, there was a lot I wanted to do. I filled my days with sight-seeing and various day-trips to beaches and hikes and the like. This time, I intentionally planned very little. Most days consisted of waking up, going for a run with Jessica, drinking some good coffee, laying on the beach, swimming in the ocean, swimming in the pool, and eating tasty dinners, often at home or close to the condominium where we were staying. I can’t imagine I drove more than 10 minutes from the condo and its lovely private beach, once we arrived. The only thing I had planned for the week was an event on Saturday I had purchased tickets for Jessica and myself a few months earlier. It was a conversation between two of my favorite writers and spiritual teachers, Wayne Dyer and Eckhart Tolle. In preparation for the talk, I acquired Eckhart’s book “The Power of Now” on iTunes, and listened to it as I rested poolside, or in the comforting shade of a palm tree.

I won’t attempt to summarize “The Power of Now”, if you haven’t had the pleasure of reading anything by Eckhart, I recommend you do. There are many brilliant observations made in that book, but one of the seemingly simplest, yet profound concepts is the simple fact that everything happens in the now. Nothing has ever happened in the past – and nothing will ever happen in the future. All we have is an infinite now – this current moment. The reason this is such a hard concept to wrap our minds around is the fact that we’ve created numerous mental constructs to suggest otherwise. Instead of feeling the moment, we instead feel time, and count the seconds into minutes – minutes into hours, hours to days, days to weeks, weeks to months, months to years and so on. By creating time, we have negated the moment (the now) and solidified the concept of past and future into our daily existence. What’s worse, we have applied emotion and meaning to these illusory descriptions of the moment. It is Sunday evening as I write this post, which means tomorrow is Monday. Is there anyone reading this post who can not feel a difference in their mind between the words Sunday and Monday? This is an entirely human conundrum. Trees and birds do not recognize this change of days, the way they might feel the seasons or recognize a difference between night and day. Days of the week are purely a human invention, and while completely illusory – very much real in the sense that our daily experience is dominated by this structure.

Sitting in Maui, with no plans for the week, and no goals for each passing day – it was quite easy to “be in the now”.  I left work behind as much as a business owner can – and the warm air, beautiful colors and inviting waters helped remove any worries or regrets hiding in my subconscious.  I’m good at being on vacation – I’ve worked hard to be so – to truly relax and let the days pass.  However, I knew like everything, the vacation would have to end.  The question was how I could maintain that same feeling of being present to the current moment, rather than wrapped in the mental constructs of past and future, which almost always manifest themselves as regret or anxiety.  While flying back to Portland, I began to ponder how I could change my reality.

Over the summer I decided to stop working on Fridays. I had hired on a fulltime employee, and the added assistance he provided greatly increased my company’s productivity and profitability. The instant I decided to stop working on Fridays, the way Friday felt changed. It was now part of the weekend. Likewise, Thursday now shifted as well, as it was the last day of the “work week”. Recognizing the shift in my perception of the week forced me to look at how I spend all my time, and helped point the way to a possible solution to my new goal of breaking down these illusions of time.

I am very lucky that I work for myself, and as such, have complete control over my schedule (within reason). Even with this freedom from the typical 9 to 5 outlook, I still find myself falling into the same cycle and patterns most people live with. I still show up at work between 8:30 and 9 – and most days work till 4:30 or 5. I work on Wednesday, relax on Saturday. Over the next few months however, I want to begin breaking free from this construct as much as I can. Starting this week I plan to start getting up earlier than I typically do – ideally before the sun even rises – and carve out an entirely new space in my life that hasn’t existed prior. Rather then waking up, taking a shower, and heading down to the bus and into the office – I plan to rise at 6:00am and not head to work until 9am. That three hour space I’m carving out will be used for reflection, exercise, writing, eating a healthy breakfast and most likely other tasks I’m not yet aware of. Three hours, four days a week (Friday is entirely mine) is twelve hours of time dedicated to something outside of work – outside the illusory structure of the workweek. Half a complete day, to use as I see fit. Monday might not feel so much like a Monday, if the first three hours of the day are dedicated not to catching up on email or sitting in meetings – but instead reading, reflecting and enjoying those early moments of the morning.

Gaining or losing one hour will seem trite if I can carve out half a day each week to dedicate to self.

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.

You must ask for what you really want.
Don’t go back to sleep.

People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.

The door is round and open.
Don’t go back to sleep.

- Rumi

There is a large, framed and very old photograph hanging in the back hallway of a bar in downtown Portland that captured my attention the very first time I saw it.  This washed out, turn of the century black and white photograph shows a barren hillside, upon which sits two homes, and before them stretches what appears to be an enormous trestle, climbing the hillside at an impossible angle, and holding upon it’s back two train cars, within which several well dressed men pose, seemingly convinced this is a safe and reasonable endeavor.  Each time I would pass this photograph in the hallway, I would ponder the lunacy of the situation it portrayed – this impossibly angled, pier of a structure, slapped together in a tangled mess of wooden beams and nails, somehow pulling two train cars up a hillside to nowhere. Who were these men and where were they going?  And the two homes… who lived in such an odd place?  Where in the world was this?

Then one day while staring deep into the image I realized I actually recognized the shining, castle-like home in the middle of the photograph.  It was the home of my landlord, whose apartment in the house next door I had begun renting a few weeks earlier.  Suddenly the name of my new street, Cable Avenue, began to make sense. However, as there was no giant cable car riding up the hillside, I was left with more questions than answers. Last week I happened to return to that bar, and while passing the portrait was once again struck by the sheer grandeur of this project – and decided it was time to learn its history.

In the summer of 1887 the Portland Cable Railway Company was formed with the goal of providing a means to transport people from downtown Portland up to Portland Heights.  While some homes had been built at the higher elevation, the rainy Portland winters and primitive dirt roads prevented year-round residence. By creating a means for people to get there, those that had purchased the land while it was cheap would be able to turn a nice profit on all the newly desired lots upon the southwest hills.

The trestle started at a power station now buried beneath US26, near the entranceway of the tunnels that carve through those mountains today, and ran at a 20% grade up 18th Street, climbing up to Jackson Street in Portland Heights. At that point the line continued along the ground to a turntable on Spring Street before turning and descending back down.

It would take nearly three years before the first cable cars would run up the more than 1000 foot length of the trestle, on February 22, 1890.  Two days later on February 24th, one of the cars heading down the trestle failed to connect with the cable and began racing down the platform.  The novice train operators panicked, jumping off the car, leaving three passengers behind, no doubt screaming for their lives. The car eventually flipped at the turn on Jefferson. No fatalities were reported however.

On April 11, 1892, Alice Druhot, the widow of Felix Druhot, purchase a parcel of land from J.C. and Annie Shofner, and built her house, gleaming white amongst the tarnished hillside, in its castellated Italian Villa style.  Her son, Arnold most likely was the architect. Lots along the now popular Portland Heights were selling for around $600, although lots with homes on them could fetch up to $5000.  The Shofner’s had purchased the land from the Smith brothers, Walter and Preston, the later of which was a prime investor and president of the Portland Cable Railway Company. Alice received a mortgage of $800 from Lombard Investment Company and began construction along what was listed as “18th, alley” – a lot with a spectacular view of downtown Portland and the modern cable line running up the hillside. Upon completion of the new home, Alice moved in along with her five sons, Edward, Carl, Felix, Arnold and Harvey. It was said Mrs. Druhot lowered her “large and elegant” furnishings from Montgomery Avenue, high above.

Much like the housing booms of today however, Alice’s time in the  home upon the hill was short-lived, and three years later financial trouble set in, and in 1895 and then again in 1896 she failed to pay the principal on her loan and found herself behind on taxes. On January 23rd, 1897 the home was foreclosed on, and remained vacant for the next few years.

The cable line didn’t fair any better. Six months after service began, in July of 1890, the Portland Cable Railway Company would declare bankruptcy, but the operation would be continued by the Portland Railway Company, which would later become the Portland Railway, Light and Power Company, and eventually merge with Portland General Electric (PGE) long after the lines were gone. In 1896 all but the trestle portion of the line was converted to electric power.

Better roads were being built, electric lines were replacing cable cars, and with the completion of the Forge Street Bridge in 1904, later to be replaced by the Vista Bridge in 1926, the cable line and the enormous trestle that supported it became unnecessary.  All 1000 feet of the wooden structure was demolished in 1905, and no sign of it remains today.

I am often in awe of the pioneer spirit that defines Portland’s history – and the wild entrepreneurs and dreamers who built impossible things.  I’m equally amazed at how quickly those creations and their stories disappear.

Resources used in researching this post:

National Register of Historic Places
Alice Druhot House Registration for National Register of Historic Places
Oregon Historical Society
The Oregonian
D. D. Tinzeroes

Bob Dylan turns 70 this month and tributes are pouring in from around the world.  I figured it was only appropriate that I take a moment to put down some thoughts on the man who I point to as the most influential person in my life (parents not included of course).  While these days my musical library is a bit broader, there was a period of my life, from around 16-22 that I listened to almost nothing but Bob Dylan albums and bootlegs.  I took his words as gospel, finding meanings within the meanings and associating the various ideas and phrases he painted into every aspect of my life. There was only one truth, and that truth was Bob Dylan.

My journey with Dylan started in 1994 at the age of 16.  I was doing math homework in the living room and my mom was watching a tv show about the history of rock-n-roll.  As they began crawling through the 60s, the show started discussing Bob Dylan.  They played a clip of a young Dylan playing “The Times They Are A Changin” – and my head literally exploded.  I remember looking up from my homework, and seeing this young man saying everything that I had ever felt or thought or feared, and with a voice so real that suddenly every pop singer and rapper of the day became a foolish actor – a gussied-up puppet spewing childish nonsense.

“Come mothers and fathers throughout the land.  And don’t criticize what you can’t understand.  Your sons and your daughers are beyond your command.  Your old road is rapidly fading.  Get out of the  new one if you can’t lend your hand, ’cause the times, they are a changin’.”

It was a warning of the apocalypse - a message from the beyond that my perfect little suburban world was going to be washed away in a flood so fierce that only the righteous would be spared.  That I had “better start swimming” or I’d “sink like a stone“.  How had I not heard this warning prior?  Why was everyone not listening to Bob Dylan?  Who was this figure?  Was he still alive?  Had anyone heeded his message?  My mind raced.  What more had he said?  Were there other warnings?

I asked my father if he had any Bob Dylan albums, and he informed me he thought he had one of them.  I ran to the basement and searched through my father’s extensive record collection and discovered he did indeed have one album from this Dylan character – “Blood On The Tracks”.  I placed it on my old Fisher Price record player, and the opening notes of “Tangled Up In Blue” began to play.  This album was completely different however than what I had heard upstairs – this wasn’t a young folk singer telling the world to wake-up.  Was it the same man? Yet I found the album captivating and listened to it over and over again.  The stories it told were so profoundly different than any of the contemporary music I’d been listening to prior.  The next week I would go out and purchase “Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits”, and begin my journey of owning every Dylan album and memorizing every word of it. The things I would learn from these albums would radically change my way of thinking and how I saw the world around me.  Two years later I would go to my first Dylan concert, and mid-way through a harmonica solo on “Girl From The North Country” all the perceived chains in my life would evaporate, and I would feel a spiritual freedom that has stuck with me to this day.  I would deviate at that very moment from whatever path I’d been on prior, and begin a journey I still find myself on today.

These are some of the things I learned from Bob Dylan.

GO OUT INTO THE WORLD AND DISCOVER YOURSELF

I would soon begin to read about Dylan and quickly learned his story.  That his name wasn’t Bob Dylan, but rather Robert Zimmerman.  That he had come from a small mining town in Minnesota, but upon learning his hero Woody Guthrie was dying in Brooklyn State Hospital, had hitch-hiked his way across America to New York City in the hopes of meeting him in January of 1961.  He had met him, gotten to know him well in fact, and along the way met most of the great folks singers of the day.  At first Dylan fit right in, learning the various folk standards, and performing those songs in coffeeshops and bars around Greenwich Village.  However, very quickly Dylan would start writing his own songs – the first being a breath-taking tribute to Woody.  This was something others weren’t doing at the time.  Folks singers interpreted traditional songs, but very few actually wrote their own pieces.  Dylan not only began writing songs, but he wrote better songs – songs that would become standards themselves.  Before long, other artists were performing his songs, and works like “Blowing In the Wind” would become “hits”.  He would get signed to Columbia, something else most folk singers weren’t doing – and Dylan would become a mainstream folk artist.  Two years after hitch-hiking to NYC, Dylan would perform at the March on Washington For Jobs and Freedom where Martin Luther King would deliver his famous “I Have A Dream” speech.  The simple act of leaving home had transformed a young nobody into a folk legend, and placed twenty-two year old Dylan in one of the most important moments in American history.  If that doesn’t inspire you to go out into the world and find your calling – nothing will.

YOU CAN CHANGE – AND NOT JUST A LITTLE

As I would collect more and more Dylan albums, it became apparent that this man was a chameleon.  Each album brought a different sound and a different face.  Not only had he changed his name, he could change his style and change his voice.  From folk music, to rock music, to country music, to gospel music, to music that defied any recognizable genre, Dylan has tried it all.  Each time he made the genre his own, and created new standards.  Folk musicians could now write their own songs, rock musicians could write songs longer than four minutes that actually said something.  Country songs could have a folk-rock sensibility, and religious songs could… well… not suck. Whereas most artists, and in reality, most people, found one style and stuck with it, Dylan tried them all.  Just when he seemed to reach the apex of that style, he would abandon it for something else.  One didn’t have to slowly evolve over time – a chapter could be closed and a new one opened abruptly. You didn’t have to dwell on your past, you could focus on the moment and that moment could be anything you desired.  This freedom to change and not be tied to how others had previously perceived you opened my mind to unlimited possibilities, and the freedom to try something new at a moment’s notice.

IGNORE YOUR CRITICS

People don’t always like change – especially when something they love changes to something they don’t fully understand.  As such, Dylan has always had as many critics as he has fans.  I can think of no other popular artist who has been booed as many times as Dylan.  Whether it was plugging in an electric guitar at the Newport Folk Festival, or refusing to play his hits during gospel-like performances during his Christian phase, Dylan has never let the criticism of others control his creativity.    It is easy in life to let fear of what others will think temper your personal growth.  The fact is that most people can’t appreciate what others are going through, and criticism is typically misplaced anyhow.  In one of the most classic moments in rock-n-roll history, Bob Dylan is called “Judas” from a fan prior to playing “Like A Rolling Stone” during a performance at the Manchester Free Trade Hall in 1966.  You can hear the crowd cat-calling and booing throughout the performance.  ”Like A Rolling Stone” is now considered in poll after poll as the greatest rock song of all time.  Had Dylan listened to the critics, we may never had heard this masterpiece and many others.  Time and time again critics have suggested it’s time for Dylan to retire – that this album wasn’t as good as that album, and these songs aren’t nearly as good as those songs.  Yet he presses on, and in time, many of those albums are seen later as far more brilliant than originally thought.  Dylan has rarely given interviews during his long career, preferring to let the music speak for itself.  Even though he has avoided mainstream press and self-promotion, countless articles are written about him on a daily basis.  I visit Expecting Rain daily, a website that collects all the various Dylan mentions throughout the world on any given day.  It’s shocking how much is said about someone who rarely speaks out.  Those who criticize Dylan these days are often met with a barrage of criticism of their own, as dedicated Dylan fans rush to his defense.  Live your life as you need it to be, without worrying what others will think – chances are they’re wrong anyhow.

THE WORLD ISN’T AS SCARRY AS IT LOOKS

Dylan’s songs are filled with a menagerie of characters.  The first time I heard “A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall” I was captivated by all the various people he encountered.  “A newborn baby with wild wolves all around it”, “ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken”, “a poet who died in the gutter”, “a clown who cried in the alley”, “a young child beside a dead pony”, “a young woman whose body was burning” and more.  Dylan’s songs are filled with these images, people and places and encounters that mystify and inspire.  I dreamt of going out into the world and finding these people too.  I longed to “walk to the depths of the deepest black forest, where the people are many and their hands are all empty.” After college I would move out west in pursuit of this vision.  To find myself in a new city, surrounded by strangers, and to meet as many people as I could.  I would take road trips down the coast, train rides across the Canadian landscape, adventures through Europe – typically by myself so that I was forced to meet as many people as I could.  I met a large woman who ran a forensics clean-up company in Louisville.  I met a white bearded man who saw everything as a conspiracy. I met a 90 year old woman on a train who taught me life isn’t short, it’s wonderfully long.  I’ve met cab drivers who are wealthy men in their home countries, homeless men who had almost been famous athletes, musicians who can only perform with their eyes closed, salesmen who wished to be artists and more.  I’ve learned to listen to those around me, to hear their stories and to care about the outcomes.  To inspire people and permit them for a moment to speak their dreams out loud.  To not judge or preach or inform – to simply witness life as it truly is and see the beauty in everything.

So Happy Birthday Bob Dylan.  My life is wonderfully more alive because of your words and the wisdom they provide.  Now if you don’t mind, “I’m going back out before the rain starts a fallin’.”

I love to travel.  So much so that if money was no issue, I would leave town tomorrow and travel the globe non-stop for the rest of my time on this planet.  There is really nothing I enjoy more than seeing a landscape I’ve never encountered before – coming into a town I’ve never walked through – finding places, pubs and people with stories to share.

Of course, money is an issue, and since my parents chose teaching rather than say, high finance, I wasn’t born into overwhelming sums of wealth. I needed to find another way to satisfy this craving, and what I did was devise a career and a company that would allow me to work from anywhere.  I started up The Interactive Dept (well, actually I started it with the name GDSpies, but soon changed that) about five or so years ago, and almost immediately I was setting off on adventures.

My first was a 30-day rail trip across America and Canada my friend Rita inspired me to take.  I was wonderfully unprepared to leave town for an entire month – and business seriously suffered.  Actually, it pretty much stopped and upon my return I found myself reborn, but completely broke.  While I had brought with me a gigantic Gateway laptop (or mobile desktop as they called it) – internet at the time was a scarce commodity – and typically reserved for the occasional hotel stop along the way.  Electrical outlets on the train were an impossible find – and typically the one or two in each car were jammed with cell phone chargers – giving me little more than two or three hours of battery life on my machine.  About two weeks in I discovered a somewhat hidden outlet in the back of the food car (I believe they referred to those two booths as the “cafe”) and for much of the rest of the trip, I could be found sitting there, plugged in, and doing my best to work offline.

Road-trips became a regular activity for me over the next few years, with two trips to Telluride, Colorado amongst others.  While these trips provided endless visual pleasures as the landscape slowly unfolded before me, it was obviously impossible to work while driving – and once I arrived in a town after 5-6 hours on the road, doing some work usually lost out to exploration.  The roadtrip was bad for business, that’s for sure, and I could see a direct downturn in sales the month following my 4 weeks on the road as leads were often ignored, and invoicing typically forgotten about. While I could now afford to travel, I couldn’t afford anything else upon my return.  I worked hard to fix this.

Three years ago, when my friend Chris and I decided to live in Barcelona for a few months, I did the best I could to plan for things – but there were many unknowns I’d soon find.  Thankfully Chris knows his tech, because getting online proved to be quite the challenge.  Heck, it took nearly 25 minutes to even explain we were trying to find a wifi provider – as my high-tech spanish vocab was sorely lacking and we discovered they pronounce it ‘wee-fee’.  After some major geeky magic, Chris managed to get things working, and for the next 3 months I was online and able to work.  This was the first successful business travel adventure – and it was during this time that I started the Modern Workweek blog.  Whether from our flat in Barcelona, or poolside in Peniscola, I was able to get online – and if I had internet, I could work – and if I could work, I could make money while on the road and land new projects.  SUCCESS.

Since then – I’ve returned to Europe twice, and each time have been able to get work accomplished while on the road.  The time difference can provide some challenges – and I find it’s best if I explain to clients I have current projects with that I’ll be away, but for the most part not much really changes.  In fact, in most instances, if a client asks for an update or fix to their site, I get it taken care of in 24hrs, and they are never any wiser that I was thousands of miles away from the studio.

This week I’m in Maui – and I’m writing this post from a nice little pub overlooking the Pacific, where I spent most of the day swimming.  Yesterday I picked up a VirginMobile Mifi hotspot that has been working out great and I was able to work most of the day in the historic town of Lahaina.  It’s a small device that produces a wifi hotstop that my computer then connects to.  Rather then having to hunt down coffeeshops and pubs with a weak wifi connection I can steal – I can now work from picnic tables in parks, delicious taco shops, or just the side of the road if I get an important text message.  It is amazing to think that when I was 16, I had to plug my family’s phone line into our computer and call Poughkeepsie, NY just to get a connection that was infinitely slower then the connection this small piece of plastic is pulling in from… gosh, I don’t even know… space?

Now of course, one criticism I hear often is “you’re in X, you shouldn’t be working.” While I completely understand that argument, and love that friends and family are suggesting I work too much – I know the truth is that I love what I do.  Seriously – web design is probably the most fun thing I do on regular basis.  I actually don’t mind opening up the laptop and taking a few hours to solve some mathematical puzzels wrapped in creativity.  The fact that I get paid so well for what I do is a fact that still marvels me on a regular basis.  And if the choice each year is between one week of vacation without work, or literally a month or more of travel while sneaking a few hours a day to handle projects I’m pretty psyched to be working on anyhow – I’ll take my path.

One night while in Barcelona eating some tapas with Chris near our flat in the Gracia neighborhood, two older American women were sitting at the table beside us.  I guess Chris and I had reached that point where we’d told all our stories, because apparently we weren’t talking – and one of the women began commenting about the food I was eating to the other, completely unaware that I could speak English (and, like, really well).  “I wonder what that is he’s eating,” she pondered to her friend.

“They’re called croquetas,” I replied to the now completely shocked and embarrassed woman and her friend.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were American,” she said – a statement that every time it was said to me always surprised me – as I think I look pretty darn American, or at least not European, whatever that means.  We got to talking, and it turned out she and her friend had always dreamed of coming to Barcelona and had saved up – and were staying for just one week.

“It’s so rainy here,” the woman said to me.  I thought for a second and realized that it had been rainy the past few days – but overall I would certainly never describe Barcelona as rainy.  In fact, I think of Spain and that whole Costa del Sol region as a pretty sunny, beautiful place. That conversation with the woman echoes in my memory every time I find myself sitting in a new wonderful location, working on the road.

Before I left for Maui, my Mom emailed me and said, “You do realize that you are going to the only place I dream of visiting.” I thought of the woman in Spain – and of all the people who dream instead of plan – and what it must be like to think of a place for years if not decades – to save up their money or their vacation days – and I am beyond thankful for what I have carved out and that no one has told me to stop yet.  That I get to travel the planet regularly, fulfilling even the most passing travel fancy. I currently have about 3-5 locations on my to-do list, all of which I hope to visit within the next year or so.  I don’t dream of seeing any place – I simply plan it out.

What’s the one place you would love to see?  Go type it into Google and pull up a map.  Click on My Maps – and save this spot.  Start looking for places you would visit – restaurants you would eat at – hotels you might stay at – hikes you might take – and mark those places on the map.  Look into what it would cost to fly there next month – 3 months from now – 6 months from now – a year from now.  Write down those prices, and prices of hotels or camping spots you might stay at.  Know the facts of your dream and you begin to plan. The more you plan, the sooner reality occurs. The planning itself is part of the thrill of travel – and the more you plan, the more likely you are to make it happen.  And once you’ve visited the place you would love to see, you have nothing left to do but pick another spot.

An old school-mate of mine who happens to share my interest in web design and serial entrepreneurship recently completed a challenge he devised called 100 Goals In 100 Days.  The concept is simple – list out 100 goals, and complete them in 100 days.  As someone who recognizes the power in setting goals – this seemed like a great concept.  However, as someone who is also easily distracted, I felt 100 goals were a bit too much to manage at once and for me personally, would be setting myself up for failure.  So instead, I’ve gone with 50 goals in the first quarter (January, February, March).  This adds up to 90 days – which is still a good amount of time to complete the tasks at hand.  In theory, if this goes well, I’ll be able to do this 4 times this year, and accomplish 200 goals in 2011.  Lets not get ahead of ourselves though – time to focus on the tasks at hand.

These goals range from business goals, to personal improvement, right up to just wanting to catch a basketball game.  It took me less than an hour to create the list, which means most of these “wants” have been floating around in my head for some time. Some will be relatively easy – others extremely challenging.    I will continue to update this post as I cross things off my list.  Hopefully it inspires others to try the same.  Having clear measurable goals with definitive deadlines is the key to success in life – hopefully this new construct will help expedite the process.

MY 50 GOALS FOR THE FIRST QUARTER

1. produce an iPhone/iPad app
2. go to the gym/workout 50 times
3. cook 10 meals I’ve never made
4. read The Autobiography of Ben Franklin
5. be able to do 100 pushups
6. produce video series reviewing iPad apps
7. open t-shirt store online
8. travel to someplace new
9. ask a girl on a date
10. update theinteractivedept.com homepage and work sections
11. find a pet web project for little $ and get passionate about it
12. learn fundamentals of the Chinese/Mandarin language and 25 phrases
13. produce a series of paintings with a theme
14. produce some large scale photos for home/office
15. write outline for my novel “East” and first two chapters
16. get in touch with two old friends
17. learn 5 scales on the mandolin
18. write a song and record it
19. volunteer a Saturday
20. learn Flash AS3
21. produce a short video about my walk to work
22. write weekly blog posts
23. get health insurance
24. go to coffee with 3 colleagues/peers
25. get weight below 175lbs
26. build website using html5 and css3
27. learn to pull an espresso shot
28. get laid
29. find a recipe for Irish stew and brown bread and make them
30. take a brewing class and make some beer
31. meditate daily
32. build something to improve apartment
33. compliment someone daily
34. write an article for publication
35. cut back on use of intoxicants
36. go to three live shows of bands I don’t know
37. fix faucet on tub
38. take a yoga class
39. get better photos of family members and frame them
40. visit doctor and get a physical
41. get clean bill of health from dentist
42. acquire a new bike
43. go to a Blazers game
44. try 3 new restaurants
45. take a tour of 2 apartments/condos I can’t currently afford
46. get a sketchpad and create a style for drawing people
47. watch 5 Chinese films
48. Get Vacation-Anticipation up and running again
49. Get rid of anything that doesn’t have a purpose in my apartment
50. inspire 3 other people to create lists of goals

ITALIC/GREEN MEANS COMPLETED

This year was pretty good for travel, based on my map above. For the third year in a row I returned to Europe, only this time with my Dad. The thought of traveling through Ireland with my father had first occurred to me the last time I was in Dublin, for a series of concerts (Bob Dylan, Counting Crows, Blind Pilot). I had been bouncing between various pubs and was on my way back to my hotel when it dawned on me that my Dad would very much like this place. I had given him a call right then and there, and a year later we were flying off to make the thought a reality.

The two of us had a wonderful time stumbling around the emerald isle. From the picturesque farming towns of Dingle and Doolin, to the energy-filled cities of Galway and Dublin, we spent nearly two weeks traveling the island, and meeting a wide variety of locals and tourists alike, all the while putting back pints of Guinness and shots of Jameson. We then jumped the channel for a couple days in the always lovely Amsterdam. We met up with two good friends of mine from college, and proceeded to explore all the delights this city of canals has to offer. This was my fifth visit to Amsterdam, so I got to play tour-guide. It’s nice to return to the same place many times – as you notice something new with each visit.

On the States side, I got to spend more time exploring California this year. A conference in Anaheim provided the perfect excuse to rent a car and travel north, first to San Buenaventura, and then up to Santa Barbara. Both beach towns were absolutely gorgeous and provided me with some much needed relaxation and sun. Then a few weeks ago I had the pleasure of traveling back down to San Francisco for a few days. Always wonderful to see friends there, and explore one of my favorite cities on the planet. I got to watch my friend Liz (who would have her first child a week later) perform in Annie Bacon’s Folk Opera, a music project I had donated to earlier in the year.

This summer I also returned to the mountains with my good friend’s Chris and Seth for a few days on the Pacific Crest Trail, this time in the Mt. Jefferson Wilderness Area. There is a far-off dream of someday walking across all of Oregon (about a month) along the PCT. For now, week-long trips will have to suffice. Getting to escape to these amazing forests is one of the great advantages of living in Portland, Oregon – and one I’m going to try to take more advantage of in the coming year.

Throw in a few trips to the east coast, two trips to my new favorite small town, Astoria, and a jaunt or three to the Oregon coast, and all in all it was a well travelled year.

So what does 2011 hold? Well so far I know I will be traveling to Hawaii for the first time in February. Beyond excited to explore Maui, and get my first taste of life in the tropics. This could be the start of a whole new lifestyle. I’ll be staying on a 3-acre estate up in the high country, but also hope to rent a hotel room on the beach for at least a night or two.

I am currently discussing plans for a Napa Valley adventure with one of my favorite people. I’ve yet to explore California’s wine country – and the thought of biking around Napa with a light wine buzz and someone who shares my sense for the hilarity of life sounds too good to pass up.

There are two family-based trips I’d very much like to do this year.  First, to visit my cousin Russell and his wife Melissa outside of Atlanta, GA.  They had a kid this year, and it’s been far too long since we’ve gotten to hang-out.  I’ll probably coordinate this trip with the football season, so this might have to wait for later in 2011.   In addition, I am very late on a planned trip to Ohio to visit my cousin’s Sean and Mike.  I’ve always loved these dudes, and Sean just had his first child this year as well – so a little family reunion is long overdue. Contemplating working that into another visit to Chicago and possibly a train adventure similar to the wild 30-day rail trip I took four years ago (although nor nearly as long, I learned my lesson).

In September I’m looking to take another 3-4 week vacation. Right now it’s a toss up between 3 concepts:

1) RETURN TO BARCELONA. Hard to believe it was two years ago that I returned from 3 months living in Spain. I fell madly in love with Barcelona and have wanted to return since the moment I left. The thought of spending a few weeks relaxing along the Mediterranean while eating mouthwatering tapas, drinking delicious red wine, and testing out my broken spanish on breathtakingly beautiful catalonian women sounds delightful!

2) CHINA. Anyone who reads my blog or posts regularly knows China has been on my mind for some time. Beyond the economic boom they are experiencing, the chance to witness a culture in epic transition really captivates my imagination. Whether it be new cities soaring to wild heights, or just exploring an ancient history that has always fascinated me, there is no doubt that a few weeks in China would be a life-changing experience.

3) VIETNAM/CAMBODIA. Ever since my friend Jess’ brother returned from Vietnam with photos of an adventure unlike any I’d seen, I’ve had a unending desire to explore this region of the world. Just recently I was chatting with a bartender at my local wateringhole and discovered he had lived there for about a year. The conversation provided even more reasons for me to explore this non-traditional vacation spot – as well as seemed an unlikely coincidence that such insights would be provided to me at that moment. As rarely do things happen without some greater purpose, I can only take this chance conversation as a sign to explore this possibility further.

Regardless, it will be a great year – that much I have decided. I’d like to keep my travel budget small this year while I pay off all my outstanding debt (one of my major personal goals for 2011). Figuring out how to get the most adventure from the most conservative budget will be a challenge. I’ll be sure to post tips or ideas I discover in my planning.

Have a wonderful 2011 – and get out and see the world!

I’m flying down to San Francisco at the moment – 20000 feet in the sky – writing a blog post on my iPad. In fact, minus a few obvious items like clothes and an assortment of travel size bathroom products – I brought little more than my iPhone and iPad on this trip.

I didn’t even bring a ticket. I checked in last night online, and simply scanned a barcode on my iPhone at security and prior to boarding. Just walked off the Max and right through security.

Typically when flying my carry-on is stuffed to the gills with magazines, a book or two, a handful of cables and chargers, my camera, an iPod, along with print-outs of tickets, hotel reservations and several Google Maps I would print out with locations to the various locales I was planning to visit on my trip. I would then lug this turtle shell around with me throughout the trip.

These days I bring so much more but carry so much less. The majority of my music collection now resides on my iPhone, so no need for the iPod – although even that remarkable device was an enormous upgrade from the CD Walkman days where I’d carry my music portfolio in a separate carrying case larger than the player skipping it’s way through the music (not to mention a ziplock bag full of batteries to sustain the consistently drained device).

With my upgrade to the iPhone4 – I no longer feel compelled to bring my digital camera on most trips, as the new camera on the iPhone4 does the trick most of the time.  When I traveled to Ireland with my Dad earlier this year, I of course brought my Nikon with me because I knew there would be some great photo opportunities. But even with that camera in my bag most of the trip, I still found myself using my iPhone most of the time, as it was smaller and more convenient. Plus with the addition of video I’m slowly beginning to capture more events and experiences through that medium then simply taking pictures. The thought of bringing a video camera with me on a trip 5 years ago would have seemed excessive – but now it just sort of tags along.

With just the iPhone, you already save a good deal of luggage bulk, but with the addition of the iPad, the need for most other travel accessories vanishes.

I fly home to the east coast at least three time a year, and those 6 hour flights require a lot of entertainment. With the iPad, I might as well be sitting in my living room. I have a huge collection of books and magazines to peruse throughout my trip – exponentially more than I could have ever packed (or carried in general). Many of the popular new apps I have work just as well offline as on, so I have a sick gaming system to entertain me – and it’s size makes it a lot more usable in a cramped airline seat than even my tiny MacBook.

Speaking of the MacBook – I still take that along with me – but I find I use it less and less – and I can imagine not bringing it on a shorter trip, where I knew I wouldn’t need my major applications (Photoshop, Dreamweaver, etc.).  I can’t imagine we’re too far away though from touch-screen verions of many of these popular apps, even if just “light” versions at first.  Adobe already has a Photoshop prototype app for the iPhone.  I imagine the integration of Photoshop or Illustrator with touch-screen technology would radically transform graphic design techniques and style.

The first time I came to San Francisco about seven years ago, was to attend the Flash Forward Conference.  The final day, they had a drawing for various prizes.  I was psyched when my name was called – but soon discovered my prize was a collection of instructional books from O’Reilly – about 15 or so 100+ page books.  Now typically, I’d be thrilled to get a huge increase to my library.  One problem… I was standing at the Herbst Theater in San Francisco – and my office was in Portland, and I had a flight to catch in two hours.  There was no way I could carry that many books out to the Oakland airport, and shipping them would have been insane.  I grabbed the five or six that seemed most interesting, and left the rest behind.  The book, even with its unmatched capacity for sentimental connection, is a horrible distribution device.  Heavy, easily destroyed, hard to share.  Digital changes everything.

So as I’m wrapping up this post, I am now back in Portland (yes, a blog post can take minutes to read, but days to write if you’re as scattered as I am).  I was running late on Sunday – and had yet another great iExperience on the way to the airport.  Having not previously checked-in, and having overestimated the speed with which the BART train would take me to SFO, I began to get that nervous feeling that this might not work out so smoothly.  Once again I reached for my iPad – and while driving through an underground tunnel I was still able to connect to the United website, check-in for my flight and have the virtual-ticket emailed to my phone.  Five minutes of my time, no ink required.

There were countless other times I took advantage of GPS and search to find various restaurants or bars – reading reviews and rating and making sure I was headed in the right direction.  Santa-con was in full force, so the camera was in steady demand as you can imagine – and because I could just as easily be reading a text-message you can get away with some great shots that might not be so wise with a bulky camera in your hand.  And finally, while walking through Chinatown on my last night I decided to start recording some video – and came across this old man playing a beautiful instrument.  Having an HD video camera to capture moments like this is just ridiculously awesome.

Thank you for letting me geek out some – but serious, I live in the future and I love it!

When I was twenty-three years old, I packed up what I could into my Honda Civic and drove out West with my girlfriend and good friend to Oregon, sight-unseen to start a new life. I quit a good job at a university, and with about $1000 to my name, headed West with abstract thoughts of what my life would become – the job I would get – the farmhouse we would live in. That grand was gone before I hit Boise, I soon discovered Portland had the highest unemployment in the country so no jobs awaited me – and by years end I’d lost the gal along with my credit score and found myself working for a start-up in a window-less office in a corporate park in Lake Oswego. I walked out of the start-up one day and at that moment had to declare the great experiment had been nothing short of a fantastic failure.

I had never been happier.

I eventually helped start-up another web business – but that too closed before long – and soon enough I was working for myself and declaring myself an entrepreneur and business owner. I named my first business “gdspies” after my own name – but soon realized if folks can’t pronounce your business name it’s sorta hard to get that word-of-mouth thing going. So that too closed, and re-emerged as The Interactive Dept – my current source of revenue that has been going on for several years now. There is no such thing as failure in my mind – just experience – and those are rarely classified as bad.

At 32, I find myself with the same feeling in my soul that I had nearly a decade ago, but this time I must admit it scares me. I had a great life back east – great friends and my wonderful family. I didn’t run-away to Oregon, it simply called to me. The unknown has always called to me – that far horizon has always captured my imagination. As I’m always aware that the current moment is nothing but the culmination of choices and decisions, I can’t help but acknowledge that at any instant I could radically change that moment – and discover new friends and adventures someplace else. Not a better life, just simply a different one.

Currently, there are three paths calling my imagination:

HAWAII
The one possible environment that I have yet to experience is “tropics”. With my passion of hatred for winter, it seems like any place described as paradise would be a good fit. My mood is greatly effected by the environment, and these Portland winter’s are seriously starting to ruin me. I recently produced a website for a local wood-worker who owns a home on 3-acres in Maui. I produced the site in trade, and in January will be heading to Maui to scout things out.

The plan: Live as inexpensively as possible and attempt to keep The Interactive Dept., going as a web development studio, only now focusing more on Hawaii-based businesses. Alternatively, I’ve always been very much into the tourism/hospitality industry (even started my own side-business Vacation Anticipation). While I’m uncertain where I’d fit into this equation, I’m curious to throw myself into the situation and see what rises to the top.

Downside: I suppose the distance and the cost of living. I live pretty simply, and with so much natural beauty around me, I can’t imagine I would require much to keep me content. I don’t think this would be a long-term plan, but would be a hell of a positive change.

THE EASTCOAST
Bringing it all back home has always been on the table. When I left for the west-coast my sisters were away at college. Today they are married, and I’ve become an uncle twice over. Rare glimpses of my niece and nephew are hardly satisfying, and I’m not keen on being the mysterious Uncle out west. Many of my good friends from college (including a few who always attempted the west-coast experiment) have settled along the Atlantic coast. My good friend Tim is in Wilmington these days, several friends call Philadelphia home, and there’s a gal in DC I can’t get enough of.

The plan: That’s the tough part. I honestly have no idea what I would do if I moved back east. An inevitable increase in the cost-of-living would make the start-up entrepreneurial lifestyle a bit of a challenge, so I’m pretty certain the east-coast requires full-time employment, a thought that does twist my stomach some. Although these days, the though of working with a great team of designers/developers does appeal me to me more than it ever did before. I would think my destination would be someplace between DC and Philadelphia, as that has the highest concentration of friends and job potential.

Downside: I would miss the quality of life that the Pacific Northwest presents. With biking to work no long being an option, I might have to purchase a car again. I would go from being “political” to being a “left-wing nut”. The massive increase in cost-of-living suggests I would be broke for at least the first few months.

CHINA
I always stated I’m my great-great-great-grandfather’s great-great-great-grandson. John Malone, who left Ireland in the 1860s to find a new life in America must have had a hell of a spirit. His decision not only directly helped produce me – but also must have radically changed his own experience.

China calls to me, and has for some time now. The energy and radical potential of change is everywhere. Speaking with family and friends who have been there, it seems to hold all the promise of California at the turn of the century. The sort of place where a man can go to achieve great things. Just the thought of a completely different lifestyle and daily experience excites me beyond belief.

The plan: roughly would be to transform The Interactive Dept into a consulting firm of sorts, helping Chinese businesses sell online in the States. My qualifications would be my past experience, and my status as a white, English speaking American male. While those skill-sets don’t seem to be too much of a draw in Portland, I get the impression from conversations that it could do me well abroad.

Downside: Isolation. Speaking no Chinese and with no misconceptions that I’ll acquire it any time soon, I get concerned about being detached from those around me. The distance would make traveling home regularly a challenge. I would see this as a two-year plan.

Three wildly different ideas. Four if you count the current path I walk which could very easily continue. I honestly can’t say which way I’m leaning. It all looks good to me. I think the winter will be full of reflection and planning in all directions to see which path seems most plausible. I visit the east-coast often, and I’ll be visiting Hawaii soon to bring more reality into my imagination. A visit to China might have to wait to the fall, although that would have to be very well-planned if I was to gain any insight into relocation potential.

The more I think about change, the more excited I get. I can envision myself visiting Portland these days, something unimaginable a few year ago. While I no longer have the enthusiastic naiveté that I possessed at 23, I maintain a passion for the experience of life – and remain convinced that experience is improved and broadened by change.

It’s time for a change.

On our second to last day in Ireland, my father and I negotiated the Ireland busing system, and purchased two tickets to Ardee,  a small village about an hour and a half north of Dublin. The bus would apparently stop a five minute walk outside of the main town – and another bus would be returning to the same location at 6pm. We nervously boarded the bus out of Dublin.

Ardee, Ireland was where my great, great, great grandfather John Malone lived before leaving for America. The namesake of the Malone family, my Father’s Mother’s family – and the eldest relative I have any knowledge of. And I know little more than that he came from Ardee. According to my father, he came to the States, fought in the Civil War and earned enough funds to have his wife join him. How much of that story is true, and how much are details from novels that got wrapped up in truth I have no idea – but in town we discovered two Malone’s – including a business with the name – so it’s safe to say that there’s some truth to the story.

In Ardee there are two 13th Century castles that greet you at either end of the main street. Walking up and examining those castles and the grounds surrounding them – I felt as if I were looking through a telescope into space, gazing at star light from a distant past. There is no doubt that John Malone – my Father’s Mother’s Father’s Father’s Father looked upon those very same walls – and walked those very same grounds. Beyond him though – I can see no further.

In fact, it’s funny how little we know about where we come from.  When a child is born, we often say “he has his mother’s nose” or “she looks just like her dad” – and that’s understandable.  The two parent represent the DNA mixture that produced this child.  Everything this child is, has come from them.  But that doesn’t really tell us much – seeing as how the child’s parents are results of the same process via their parents.  Suddenly you have four grandparents that are the DNA culprits behind this new-born.  However, right behind them are eight great-grandparents who might have something to do with this as well.

Sadly, this is where the “you know whose eyes those are” game wears off.  Humans simply don’t live to a point where we get many great-great-great anythings.  But if we did – and I could look all the way back to John Malone in Ardee, Ireland – there are 31 other individuals, including his wife (my great-great-great grandmother) where my DNA directly comes from.

I can account for two of those 32 great-great-great grandparents – and I know for a fact the Spies branch was not in Ardee, Ireland.  The rest are a mystery – as are their 64 parents who also hold the answers to my DNA riddle – albeit the waters are getting a bit muddied.

In fact, the only thing I really know about most of the people that came before me was that they were healthy enough, smart enough, and lucky enough to reach the age of procreation, and at least one of the children they created was capable of doing the same.  If any of them were unable to perform this task, I simply would never have existed.  Seriously though – what are the odds that around 1850, sixty-four unique individuals, in at least three different countries, would survive long enough to meet and produce children capable of doing the same so that I could carry those same genetic codes some century and a half later.  The numbers begin to grow exponentially beyond there.  If we say the average age of procreation for a male is 25 (and this would vary wildly in different cultures, but even so, I’m still seven years late), we can estimate that while America was declaring its independence in 1776, there were approximately 248 people walking around with all the ingredients that make up me.

As Louis XIV reigned supreme from the Palace at Versailles in the 1680’s, nearly 4000 individuals with a part of me walked the Earth.  And in 1492, as Columbus set foot in the Americas, over half a million of my direct ancestors, awaited his discovery. As did their million parents… and possibly two million grand-parents.

When those castles were put up in the 13th Century in Ardee Ireland, over 520 million individuals, and their billion-plus parents walked the Earth.

NOW WAIT A SECOND… were there even a billion people alive in the 13th Century?  No… no there weren’t.  So what happened?  Well… the lines cross.  Where, we have no idea, but no doubt they must – in fact they do for everyone.  They simply have to.  If you think it’s sticky in the 13th Century?  By 1100 there would be over 33 Billion ancestors walking the planet at the same moment if our family tree didn’t start reconnecting some of its limbs.  I’m not talking about kissing cousins – it’s quite possible many of these re-connections occurred without knowledge.  After a few centuries, the chances of finding a mate who DID NOT have shared DNA traits would be nearly impossible, especially when considering how little people traveled up until a century ago.

I recall my mother telling a story of how her parents were forbidden to marry, because one was Catholic and one was Protestant – a scenario played out many times for Irish immigrants in NY, some of which were from Northern Ireland, some from the southern region.  Rather than looking towards their parents for identity, had they only seen their true heritage, looked a few centuries more back – clearly their bloodlines ran parallel – clearly they already shared not so distant relatives.

Religious zealots of all persuasion would have you believe some God placed us here with intent – a perfect spot for a perfect species.  I for one find that to be a bit contrary to the facts.  I see a species poorly prepared for this environment, that has some how managed to survive and pass on its code and its knowledge to future generations, time and again.  On a planet that is 70% covered by water we can not breath within or in most cases drink – cut off by distance and the need for oxygen from all other planets – with less hearing capacity than a common hound and lacking the capacity to see the majority of the light spectrum – we seem an unlikely success story.  But I am just that.  As are you.  The DNA prize of countless humans who struggled to survive childhood, found a mate, and were able to produce at least one child capable of doing the same.

I have two wonderful parents who I love – and it’s great when I see a part of me in them.  But it’s also good to remember that I am not just of them – I am of the the same DNA as everyone else.  The same as you – the same as all those who have come before, and that next generation just beginning the journey.  And even this great species we call our own, is merely one branch of an even grander tree.  I guess the question becomes – what aren’t you like?  And if any of those million of connections had never occurred, would you still exist? How radically do you alter the distant future with every choice you make?

After a few hours and a handful of pubs, my father and I made our way out of the town center and back to the main road to wait for the bus.  As promised, at six o’clock it came around the corner and picked us up.  We boarded the bus and left the town of Ardee with far less trepidation than I imagine John Malone had when he set off for American a century and a half ago.  That decision, and the many before and after it are part of an endless list of reasons I exist in the first place.  I for one am glad he made the trip.

On the far end of the Dingle Peninsula of Ireland, out past the quaint little fishing village that is its namesake, are a series of stone bee-hive shaped dwellings in a circular formation, surrounded by a stone-wall and sitting on the side of a hillside overlooking Dingle Bay and further out over the Atlantic Ocean. Archeologists believe the structures were created as early as 2000BC, and were still in use until approximately 1200AD. The primitive structures are nothing more than piled rocks – no mortar or supports – just flat rocks in a round, piled slightly off-kilter so they come to a curved dome of sorts with just enough space at the top to allow some light into the space within. Crawling through the opening I found myself back in time – staring at a space that probably hadn’t changed much since the original proprietors decided to move on. No marble statues or painted portraits here – just a dirt floor, a small outcropping for a fire, and the uneasy feeling one gets when recognizing the roof above you is nothing but a pile of unsecured rocks held together by little more than gravity. Upon dipping your head out the entry and back into the light of day – you stare out at the silhouettes of the mountains on the far shore rising from the waters below – and your eyes touch the same sight those original residents must have encountered each day of their quiet, and I imagine, exhausting lives.

At one point there were 40,000 residents on the Dingle Peninsula, but when the soil could no longer provide, the famine arrived and the population either escaped or perished. Even today there are only about 10,000 folks who call this unique landscape home. Many of the original homes from that period remain. Abandoned, slowly fading monuments of a desperate time.

One can’t help but feel the passage of time everywhere in Ireland. The countryside is littered with old stone ruins, grave markings and endless stonewalls and hedgerows defining borders that have been passed down through the centuries. Newer buildings share the streets with 300 year-old pubs, and every town has some point of interest that sheds light on a forgotten era.

There is a voice inside that loves to feel that the current moment is the most important – and that your efforts and challenges are of immense consequence and importance. Look at the face of the average person on the street and they are most often in a stressful hurry – quite convinced of what they need or must accomplish – and doing their best to lay claim to whatever objects, property or individuals they feel belong to them. While far more relaxed than most, I too often find myself stressing about The Interactive Dept. – worrying about where the next project will come from – what the long-term course of our business will look like – how I can pay off the tax-man and sill manage to purchase a home some day. All the personal concerns of family and friendships, health and fitness, and even now, while riding a train to Dublin, where the next vacation might be.

Standing in that stone structure on the side of a rocky-outcrop on the Dingle Peninsula, you realize it really doesn’t matter at all. For thousands and thousands of years individuals like me in one way or another have walked this Earth, fretting their moment upon the stage, only to eventually pass on and fade from all memory like all those before them. Were the owners of these small rock dwellings good or bad? Winners or losers? Later on, some built massive castles with their wealth – others laid siege to those castles – and still others worked the land outside those castles for whomever temporarily pronounced themselves in charge. Good days, bad days – but all forgotten.

As my father and I travel on this trip, each day we try to remind ourselves we have nothing to do. We’ve intentionally planned no activities – just a few rough locations. Each morning we simply start walking and the day writes itself. Occasionally we find ourselves walking too fast, or rushing a delicious pint – and one of us will comment, “Hey, remember, we got nothing to do today.”

The sentiment, while simply a reminder of being on vacation at first has taken on larger meaning as the trip progresses. The constant reminders of just how long this game has been played, and just how short our glimpse of this amazing planet and experience is – provides solid proof that we as individuals on this planet have nothing to do ever. Everything is simply a choice – and success and failure merely an opinion of the moment.

In this modern workweek, history is easily forgotten as our time is often spent planning for the future, enthused for the next big thing, focused with the moment at hand. Multi-tasking has become the norm – and even vacations are often organized and coordinated with military precision. The thought of turning off your phone for a week seems like an impossibility. Detaching from technology and all the information it delivers brings fear that you’ll miss the boat – that opportunities will pass – that you will fail. A three-day weekend is acceptable now and again, but lets not get wild.

I whole-heartedly disagree, and recommend everyone begin to detach more. I would estimate I spend about 1-2 months a year doing little more than walking new cities or spending time with friends and family. If you can’t take three months (as I did in Spain), or two weeks as I’m doing now in Ireland, take one, or even a single day. Turn off the phone, shut-down the computer, ignore your “responsibilities” and enjoy the day without a plan of how you’ll control it. Not a Saturday – I’m talking about a Tuesday. Call out of work – lie and say you’re sick if you have to. Let the day take you. Walk out the front door and just start walking. Let the moment work its magic and accomplish nothing. Once you get a taste for it, as I have, you’ll find yourself wanting to accomplish nothing more and more. You’ll realize the world doesn’t fall apart in your absence, and after the ego comes to terms with this shocking truth, you’ll find yourself detaching more and more. You’ll realize doing nothing often feels even better than doing something – and that what at first might feel like a guilty pleasure is actually your mind saying “THANK YOU – I needed that.”

Many centuries from now, a father and son may come across your current dwelling. They might check-out your office – snap a few photos of your desk, ponder how you lived in such a way and what your days were like. They’ll be more curious about what art you made, what music you loved – then how stressful things were, or how you made the rent. Then, upon seeing a bus of senior citizens approaching, they’ll move on to the next monument, content that they have nothing to accomplish for the day.

Now I need to get back to doing nothing myself.