I’m not making it great… again!

It’s fun to see cute little things growing all around me.  Their developing and reaching seems to expand day by day. I’m impressed and proud at the constantly budding natural accomplishments. I would also love to take credit myself for masterminding their creation. How awesome would it be, to know that I’ve actually done the hard work of sculpting and crafting these amazing creatures!

Okay, okay. I’m sure you know what things I’m talking about, right!

It’s my tiny tomato plants of course!

Well actually, this paragraph could also describe the vibrant youthful crew at our restaurant!

And yeah, I suppose I could once again be typing up tidbits about all my precious girls!

This awareness actually applies to all three examples.

I’m not God. I didn’t create any of these blessings all around me. I know exactly why that is as well… These very best things in my life, I couldn’t possibly command into existence, even if I made them my life’s mission!

This year I neglected my garden. After it was tilled in early spring, I forgot about it until it was blanketed in weeds. Finally, I bought some seed, some seedlings and got out my hoe. I dug and tore at that green carpet of junk weeds, trying to make room for my new storebought supply of veggies.

During my back-straining stabbing at the ground, I noticed something. Not every green shoot in that soil was a weed. Several of them had the jagged edged leaves of a tomato. I began to leave some of them alone. Volunteer tomatoes had sprung up all over. God had already begun the planting of my garden, while I was ignoring it. God’s methods do that kind of thing…


Back in the too small, too hot, too hectic kitchen of our restaurant, gangly kids are growing into proficient adults, at an amazing rate. In the grinding blast of a Friday night rush, young people step up. They become decisive and action obsessed. They stretch beyond their capabilities. They become flexible and fantastically fast learners.

I can demand with volume of voice, but it’s all in vain. Their accomplishment comes from within. I believe they’re finding themselves to be stronger, smarter and more capable than they imagined when they walked in the door asking for ‘just a job.’ These moments in their development are authored by our almighty Creator. I am doing just enough to keep from hindering them too much. Their gifts and the way they use them, happens as they Volunteer to walk through our doors and get to work. It’s not me doing it at all.


Hearing that people find my kids cute, or darling, or precious is nice. I totally agree! And as you would expect, I’ve come to the conclusion that it isn’t anything that I have directly been able to affect.  All my girls are my pride and joy. Lindsay, my wife, however is the absolute most amazing blessing I’ve experienced in my whole life. There is a specific reason for this: My cute kids are God’s gift, they represent God’s smiles onto our marriage. Let’s face it though, these kids are involuntary captives. They are born into our household. They aren’t choosing us from amongst a wide range of possible families to live with. They know us and us alone as their only Mommy and Daddy.

Lindsay is different than the girls. Lindsay is my wife by choice. She is one half of a sacred and Voluntary union, between two wildly different entities. The truth is, that God alone has the power to shelter and embrace this volatile and fragile blend of explosive ingredients. There isn’t any way that I can claim to be the one making this possible; just ask her, I’m sure she’d agree, that’s a laughable thought really!! 🙂

So deep is my appreciation for the nature of the Volunteer.

I’m blessed constantly and richly and I notice, whenever I am seeing the amazing results around me, that I never could construct.

Until next week my friends, Volunteer your heart to God, and watch life flourish all around you.


Aaron Nichols


Unproductive Exercise: A New Trend!

Ten years ago this summer, I was in the best shape of my life. Sure I was a youngster at 28, but that wasn’t the reason why. For a couple years before that, I was a human balloon! Rounder and even more portly than I am today, and with my ten year class reunion on the horizon, I had decided it was time to trim down.

By the summer of 2007, my lifestyle changes were paying off. I regularly and rigorously exercised on my bicycles. I watched the portions at mealtime. I cut out junk-food like carbs and sugars. I had also drastically made adjustments to the calories I drank. It was a full-time commitment, and I even came close to sporting six-pack abs!

After lots of practice, I could easily pedal the 14 miles to Richmond and back right after work on a Friday night. I was fast on those two wheels and would make it home in plenty of time for the poker party in my garage. I’d then settle in for a long night of carousing with a bunch of golden tinted glasses of scotch and water and a several satisfying menthol cigarettes… Ahhh, those were my healthy days!

Funny isn’t it. I made it such a big priority to eat right and exercise, yet I couldn’t have tried harder to feast on my addictions and pollute the same body I was trying to transform! It should have been a good thing, that I was on the bike enough that I could ride for a quarter mile at a time no-handed.  The problem was, I learned that trick while lighting my cigarettes and putting the Bic and the box safely back into my fanny pack, without ever stopping or slowing down.

It’s been ten years since then. Eight since I last smoked a Marlboro. Over five since I last drank the Scotch. That was over 40lbs ago too.

My 20 year class reunion will be in the fall. I haven’t been nearly as anxious about this milestone as the first decade though.

I still live in a serious constant imbalance. My 28 year-old-self would be surprised and proud to know now about my amazing wife and two darling daughters. There are have been too many truly healthy changes to count. However, that same ironic scattered focus remains.

LIke here I am, again up till all hours, writing a story for you. In the morning. I will be glad to serve amongst my family of congregates at Westminster Presbyterian Church, yet my bible may stay closed again this week like the last several months have been.

I’ll probably drag tiredly through the rest of my one day “off” of the week. I could easily sleep away the afternoon and almost miss the evening before I head back for more work late tomorrow night.

I’ll enjoy little family moments in the day for sure. I might be so appreciative as I notice my wife nursing our infant daughter, and then I might snap sharply in response to some slight comment I deem abrasive.

A man of contrasts I remain. This moment finds my new version of that same ol’ story. Maybe ten years from now, I will look back and notice my stupidity that I’m blind to today.

Until next week my friends, pedal hard, party harder… until you realize that prayer works so much better than either of those. May God Bless Your Journey.


Aaron Nichols



True Self Control

Is it weird that I’m so domesticated now? It really wasn’t that long ago that the wild animal in me ran rampant and untamed. Now it’s a different story. I think it’s a better one too… but how can I really know for sure?

On another note: I find it fascinating to watch my not-quite 2-year-old daughter buckle herself into the highchair. Sometimes she’ll do it with the carseat straps too. There was a time earlier, when she was just getting big enough to sit on her own, that she fought those clicks that meant confinement.

In the morning, just a couple hours from now, I’ll be working on breakfast and JoJo will want to sit in her chair. She won’t let me connect the plastic latch, oh no… SHE has to do it.

It must be in our human nature to want to harness and control ourselves, the routines of our day and our lives. We want to be in charge of things and do it our own way.

Funny though, the straps on her breakfast chair, are a restriction. This safety feature keeps her locked down and stops her from crawling all over our bar and reaching the things we keep at a distance from her grabby hands…

She might whine about being stuck in there sometimes. She herself clicked the lock. It’s such a perfect metaphor for life in general. I suppose the symbolism will only get more elaborate and layered when she learns to open it too, and risks a possible fall.

When I dive deep into conspiracies and fall into never-ending rabbit holes on the internet, I look to the immediate world around me and see if I find proofs of any type. This seemingly natural bend toward self-domestication seems to help prove some far-fetched theories.

I have my daughters best interest at heart, when I use the safety straps on her highchair. She’s helping herself when she takes charge and locks herself in. I wonder then how this relates to the areas where I fasten and clamp down on myself instead of being mentally, physically or spiritually free?

Where have I drawn my own boundaries and who is it always helping? Hopefully it’s for my own good. I wonder though upon deeper inspection, where I might want to reevaluate. Just keeping routine for routine’s sake, can’t always be good. Maybe I don’t always benefit from more and more sedentary domestication.

At some point Joella will have to graduate and let go of always having a seatbelt wherever she sits. She would look funny to be my age someday and still wanting to be strapped into a plastic chair, just for sausage and eggs in her own kitchen.

Until next week my friends, stay open to those areas where it’s time to graduate, to engage the next gear, and leave behind the unnecessary straps holding you back.

God Bless


Aaron Nichols

A Varmint Marmot

It was a frantic emergency stop at the auto parts store that Saturday mid-morning. I was at decent elevation in Montrose, Colorado, so  my options were limited. I found a well-stocked NAPA and the mission included only one thing. I had to get some wire! And NOW!

Hmm… just today I was digging around in the toolbox that lives in the back of my trusty Toyota 4Runner, and I saw those two spools of black and white wire. They are still marked with their almost insanely high ‘mountain-region’ pricing tags.  Ironically, I’ve never used an inch of that wire.

What was my calamity? Why was I so worked up and hell-bent on getting that wire bought, while on my roadtrip last summer?

Earlier that morning, I awoke next to sky high pines, perched above a mountain lake, on the west side of the Continental Divide. My screen-ceilinged tent was pitched just behind my parked car. I had set it up in the dark, slept a little, froze a lot, but enjoyed the proximity to the stars that night before.

The area was Telluride, but I wasn’t heading there. Nope, I was returning to the Land of Oz, and heading east. Ophir Pass sounded like a fine way to get there from here.

It was very early when I quietly crunched the gravel on the road through Ophir. This tiny town sits the in the crook of a mountain valley. There are no businesses or services and the residents don’t like visitors. In fact, there isn’t a sign at the highway that even indicates their presence. I missed the turnoff previously and had to ask a local for directions.

Once I passed through town, the trail was only headed one way. UP that mountain.  It is a single lane road that begins in the trees, but goes well above their line. I hadn’t been driving for maybe 5 minutes up the pass, when I came to a small clearing. Off to my left was a newer, modified and slick-looking 4-Runner, with the drivers legs sticking out from behind the rear tires.

I stopped and yelled over to him, ‘Everything Ok?’

He indicated that he was stuck. His car wouldn’t start. Basically he was stranded.

I pulled my truck up near his and out of the way of the trail. I told him that I had a bunch of tools and was willing to try to help, but I’m no mechanic.

His problem was caused by a varmint he said. Overnight, he had camped at this spot. After dark he heard some rustling around. He said that while he was sleeping on the folded-down rear seats, when heard something climbing around the undercarriage.

It was a marmot, he was sure. He showed me an electric solenoid type unit on his rear axle. The wires had been chewed through. That little bugger had nibbled the pretty green wire in two and didn’t leave enough to reconnect them with.

Hmmm… Now’s the time you’re probably thinking that I ran to the store to get this guy some wire, right? Well, remember that I haven’t ever used any of it. So that’s not exactly the case.

I searched my toolkit. I grabbed wire strippers, electrical tape and side cutting pliers. I had small pinch-together connectors too.  Wire though, was one thing I was missing.  I needed just a couple inches of some type of automotive wire and I had none. He didn’t have any either.

After searching around some more, I came across my camping headlamp. It had a lens on the front and battery pack on the back, connected by a small wiggly wire. I told him I was willing to cut it up, if it might help him get his car started. It was really the only option we had.

A tiny almost threadlike wisp of copper did exist inside the black plastic insulation on this cheap imported headlamp unit.  I cut a length and carefully stripped both ends. The gauge of the ‘wire’ was comedically small, but he went to work on wrapping it around as best he could. We then taped it all up tight and held our breath at the moment of truth.  He headed to the cab and turned his key in the ignition.

It cranked just once and fired to life! It was great to see our MacGuyver fix actually do the job!  He used some more tape to secure everything together and then we parted ways. He headed down the mountain and I headed up it.

On roadtrips I enjoy carrying along the tools I could need to handle things just like this. I topped over the mountain that morning and was enjoying the views, but kicking myself for not being more prepared. I thought I had everything. Of course, it was the one little piece of the puzzle that I lacked.

I was determined to stock up and be ready for the next instance with plenty of heavy duty wire in my toolbox! That’s why I was on a mission later that morning, when I arrived in the town of Montrose.

Funny though, I spent that morning worrying that I should’ve been better prepared. I was kicking myself. I could have had this guy’s car fixed in 10 minutes instead of 30. I was self-conscious even. Silly, huh?

In truth, I did have the means to fix things. I did offer my help. I had to make a small sacrifice, but it all worked out okay. Sometimes I forget to enjoy the outcome, when the process has had its challenges along the way.

In the end, I was helpful, and that feels good.  It was really nothing more than a memorable moment caused by a Marmot on the side of a mountain…

So I guess the point of this blog today, is that if you need some wire, call me. I’ve got it now.  It’s imported from Colorado, high quality stuff.  I’d be glad to lend you a hand.


Aaron Nichols

A Fix for Impossible

There was a normal-day moment back in the early 80’s. It was just like lots of other days, I assume.  As it is for me now, there was household of two little kiddos, there was a beautiful young wife. There was this seemingly ordinary-day, in May, when my Dad didn’t know it was the last time he’d see his family.

Today is that anniversary, and yet it’s just another day for us, here, now. It’s a reminder on the calendar, but the headlines aren’t new news. 1983 was a long time ago. The shock has faded, life has been lived on, joys and sorrows of many kinds have passed since then.

On some of these yearly anniversaries, I’ve wondered what I’m supposed to be doing… At different points in my life, I handled it different ways. I might have visited the cemetery. I probably had a drink in his honor. I certainly spent some upset about everything… This one though feels different.

I once heard a quote about how problems are really never solved. The original one escapes me, but it sounded similar to this sample:

“Problems aren’t solved; The dissolve as you evolve.” – Derek Rydall

The idea that somebody could solve the ‘problems’ of losing their father at a young age, is a little preposterous. Nonetheless, I know I spent many years in that pursuit; trying in vain to somehow restore a percieved inner broken universe to imaginary perfection. This endeavor exasperated and exhausted the tender emotional filaments coursing through every dimension of my being…

And again, today is May 21st, the chronological recurrence cycling through, whether it’s welcomed or not.

What if though, that quote had merit. What if these so-called problems couldn’t truly be solved. How does one evolve, in order to make them dissolve?

I don’t know about the exact how. There isn’t any step by step template. I do find it true, just the same.

An anniversary can be a reminder, but it doesn’t have to be negative. I don’t have to just wallow in the pit. I could enjoy the day with a simple choice, to relax into the good things around me. Blessings have always been there, and they continue to arrive. I admit that the three ladies of my life, make it easier than ever to notice. However, if we look for them, gifts are all around at all times.

Could a ‘bad-day’ anniversary from the past, be just a normal-day now? Could it even be a ‘good-day’ or dare I say great? Part of me still holds on to a belief that re-creating some misery, is paying homage to this person I lost… I wonder though, if Dad’s bright spirit, would rather I enjoy it somehow, some way, even on the annivesary of his bad day?

Safe to say, that yes, the evolution of life, through its problems in-spite of them and with microscopic but constant growth toward the light, beats the impossible games of fixing the past.  I write this note to myself, as a reminder, to reflect on. Believe me, there are still plenty of anniversaries where I forget to smile.

Until next week my friends, remember that: “It’s okay to really enjoy life, right now, under these exact circumstances” (a quote by a 31 year old) – Aaron Nichols


(38 year old) Aaron Nichols

Thinking too Freely

I’ve been accused, plenty of times and well deserved too. There is proof right here. This blog itself is an expression of it. Recently while telling the tales naming our new baby it was brought up again.

I over-analyze. I think too much.

It’s not quite an insult, right?

Let’s look at the spectrum: I don’t see how never thinking at all could be a good thing. I don’t believe that I’m the most accomplished expert over-thinker on the planet. However, it’s probably true that I land somewhere beyond a healthy and balanced brain-operator. Over-revving the overdrive is my usual mental transmission gear of choice.

To stand back and ponder on the results of this character flaw, I can see why it causes issues. Laid-back and go-with-the-flow I ain’t .

When someone wants to hold onto their unhealthy habits and rationalize away any thoughts of painful changes, the mind offers excuses easily!

I analyze in order to improve! I dissect to avoid future issues. I chew and grind on a thought for hours or days so that I find it’s innermost kernel of conceptual value. With my unending pursuit of scrutiny and evaluation, I really know where the issues lie. I can’t be hoodwinked with delusions and false impressions!

Ha! What a delusion it is to believe my own excuses!

My mind doesn’t just come up with justifications for my excessive over-thinking, no it doesn’t stop there. I can pile up page after page of reasons that I am just the exact way that I am about everything in my life. The good, the bad and yes the very truly ugly!

In a nutshell, it’s as ifmy ego has trained my brain to constantly curate an exact personality that allows my flaws to continue unobstructed! With this perfect system, the uncomfortable pressure of expansion and growth is traded for the tension and aggravation of stagnation!

But don’t worry about me. I eventually have come to terms with the name of our new baby. It didn’t kill me to get there, but it was a little difficult. If you have an extra 20 minutes to listen to my story sometime, ask me about it. Then you can be the judge and decide if my over analyzations are fatal or not.

As a sober person, I miss that sweet mental release that occurs with the crack of a cold beer can. Now it’s just me and ma’ brain, without substances to scrub it free of extraneous thoughts. Oh well, when I look at those two sweet daughters of mine, and my amazing wife, that have all come since sobriety, I know without any doubts what is working better for me.

Until next week my friends, ponder and think deeply, but not too deeply. These mental rabbit holes don’t have room for us all 🙂

God Bless,


Aaron Nichols


Ha! In Awe!

What’s the point again? Of putting these words on this page?

Oh Yeah! I like to make things, I’m crafty.  Designing, writing and cooking are ways that I can express my creativity.

Ha! Creativity! Ha! Creation! Ha! Me, making something!?!?!?

Folks, get real.  I just witnessed again the amazing delivery of my second child! That is creation!

I am still in awe. The radiance of the miracle is nuclear!

I really don’t have words. They won’t arrive through my fingers.

It’s my wife! Her moment of absolute creativity is now. Her artistry and divinity are on display in our home. Two shining little countenances, so sweet, our love produced. I’m too in love with her, and our daughters, to be much good in this space, right now.

Later, when the invigoration has settled and the miraculous almost seems like normal life again, I’ll try for you and for me, to make a blog post worthy to read.

Take care my friends. Notice the miraculous, there’s nowhere it’s not. Thank God for it All!


Aaron Nichols

A Big Little Boy Lives Here

That sweet little angel of ours threw something this morning. She threw it right in my face! It was big and loud, it was a three-alarm Hissy Fit! My precious daughter let loose, with a red-faced screecher!

Yeah, yeah, it was warranted. She had every right to be upset. I had obviously been waaay in the wrong, when I didn’t let her take her breakfast to eat in front of the television. She had a perfect spot picked out on her pink kiddy couch. It was obviously going to be an awesome way to enjoy her oatmeal until I ruined her great idea. How dare I!

Something occurred inside my mind while it was trying to batten down the hatches and shut out the volume roaring from her mad little face. I noticed a familiarity to her tone. I didn’t like hearing her sounds at that time, but yet I had to look inward and realize a truth…

She sounded just like me!

Ha! I know you’re probably thinking that it would be a little strange to watch me throwing myself around on the floor, crying and gasping and pausing in between wails of frustration. I will admit that not getting to eat in front of the TV probably wouldn’t set off a major temper tantrum for me, but there are other seemingly silly things that can.

The reason her outrageous crying seemed to resemble dear ol’ dad, is that sometimes I fear that I haven’t really found better ways of dealing with problems than throwing a fit about them. Sad I know, but true. Now my 38 year-old fits are a little different from a toddlers’. I have a deeper voice and I use actual words instead of shrieking and bawling… usually.

Truly though, I find that when tensions are rising and irritations are mounting, I can snap. I’ll sink knee deep into an emotional outburst in a flash. There are some people reading these lines right now probably shaking their heads like, ‘Uh Huh, That’s For Sure!”

Anyway, I did laugh at myself today watching her go off. She has already found a mechanism by which she can try to force her way. It’s a VERY persuasive tactic! I didn’t give in though, and eventually we had a nice breakfast up at the bar-top, where we always do, with only the radio on, like we always do. It turned out fine.

The moral to me, is that when you really break it down, there isn’t a lot of difference between how I tend toward outbursts and how she did today. I’d like to think that I have higher levels of maturity, I can navigate treacherous situations with sound compassionate reason and detachment from outcome. Ha, really that’s a load of gar-bage!

Actually, I think the truth is that I’ve been quite blessed. I have been fortunate that people around me, must’ve seen that same infancy and ridiculousness in my tantrums that I saw in hers. I felt sorry that she was so upset, but I didn’t take on her outrage over the situation. For all my chest beating and primate howling, the people around me probably saw a little boy, a brat, in a big ol’ body, throwing a fit.

I have been the antagonist in a bunch of conflicts. Even in the last few years. I’ve seen though, that the best versions of those conversations happened without any yelling, without high heart-rates, they have been fewer than I’m proud of, but usually they end with a hug. So it must be possible, even with me.

I hug my little girl a lot. She’s teaching me so much every day. I found out this morning, that I’m too much like her sometimes, and I’d like her to be less like me in certain ways too.

Until next week, count your blessings for they outnumber the curses by far.


Aaron Nichols

A flaw in the practice of Easter Worship

It’s the practice of this thing, this writing thing, that matters. It’s the returning to, and the stepping again forward on this continued path, that seems worthy. I doubt it’s the concepts or the drilled-down specific points that I’ve typed out over the years that hold real weight. I want to keep open a channel for expression, in case something important or profound arrives through me.

It’s these moments, late at night, of simple contemplation, that nourish me. It’s the resting steady focus for a few fleeting minutes per week that I must enjoy. On this Good Friday, at this Easter moment, I ponder in these early morning hours, the act of Worship.

See, I am really really REALLY good at worship!

It’s true. I can pretty much worship in the morning, or while I’m at work and before bed too. I probably worship in my sleep sometimes.

On a weekend like Easter, worshiping revolves around the crucifixion and the Resurrection of Jesus. For all dedicated worshipers this is the Big One!

The only slight problem for me, is that my skillz at worship, don’t always have to do with the Father, the Son or the Holy Ghost… Oops.

I know, I know, somebody in the last few years, probably said something behind my back, like I’ve become some kind of a Jesus-Freak! Just because I’m not a raging party animal every weekend, I’m probably stuck nose deep in the Bible from dawn to dusk, or as much as possible… right?

Well, TBH (to be honest) I’m probably so much less freaky about Jesus, that it’s embarrassing. My behavior and vocabulary can be so not church appropriate, yet I maintain my previous statement.

I’m awesome at worshiping!!!

The only little issue, is that my worship is too often pointed in the wrong direction. I am so quick to idolize and be fascinated by the shiny trinkets of the world around me. A new thread of YouTube videos can suck me in for weeks on end. I become almost instantly devoted and throw myself completely into new distractions all the time.

This truth relates to my relationship with a simple practice like a glass of inky-dark room-temp Malbec blooming in my hand at the end of a long work day. I could become entranced and dedicated to the vino itself. I would want to identify myself with it. I’d find it at the center of my discussions. I might throw myself, mind, body and soul into an idolatry of alcohol. I could sincerely mean words like LOVE in relation to a rotten grape…

In that worldly kind of worship, I’m masterful!

To this day, even through a few years of sobriety, focusing on creating a church life for myself and my family, I struggle to love Jesus, like I do the tangible things of the world.

So broken spiritually, I sit here in the middle of the night. Playing again the keys of this mental piano, sounding thoughts onto the lcd screen. I maintain that somewhere on the journey, the meaning of this act will be revealed.

I will attempt this weekend for split seconds, longer moments, then maybe minutes on end, to worship the one true God. I remind myself right now, that in the Resurrection, my many sins have been redeemed. The detestable idolatry I commit daily, in worship of almost everything but God, has miraculously been wiped away. In this event, things that cannot be done, were done, through love.

Until next week my friends, in small ways practice a contemplative worship . If you dare, ask yourself what it is that really deserves your worship and what doesn’t.


Aaron Nichols

The mouth to mind ratio

Surely you’ve heard this quote. “Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people.”

I find it convicting and confounding within this certain context. (Basically, what I think it means)

  1. The discussion of ideas to me refers to universal truths, the nature of spirituality, principals of philosophy and consciousness or existence itself. THE eternal questions humans have always wrestled with.
  2. The discussion of events would be like the evening news, or the local news. It’s the actions of individuals or nations or the weather. The range could also include physical things, and materialism.
  3. The discussion of people would be gossip; judgmental conversations about third parties…

Well, maybe these are the meanings behind this quote, or maybe they’re not. I can’t be sure, not my quote. In fact, the quote itself is attributed to a couple different people including Eleanor Roosevelt and Hyman Rickover.

Whoever said it, they might agree with my breakdown. If they did, and if they followed me around in my day to day life, they would probably describe my mind as small with flashes of average. It’s strange though because I fancy myself, not as a great mind, but as someone deeply fascinated by ideas, and uninterested, even detested by so much else.

It’s my personal time, spent on Youtube or podcasts, where I consume my philosophy. My headphones are never tuned to popular music or radio, but often to the voice of a wise Rabbi. I love learning about the spiritual fabric of this thing we call the world around us. A debate on consciousness or ethics can captivate me for hours without any boredom. Yet I talk to almost no one about these things.

It’s just the stuff, it’s a ballgame on, and it’s an easy stab at someone’s obvious shortcomings… That’s what I choose to talk to others about. How small minded that is… how true this quote looks through my own eyes.

I wonder if or when it will be that I might mature? I wonder if growth and mental expansion will transfer this secret love of mine, from my inner world, or these few words online, to an actual conversation with a real human being?

Talking about wider concepts, questioning the reality of existence or where our thoughts come from, is so intriguing. But I hardly ever say that aloud.

I must thank my wife though, for entertaining me and my haywire ideas. She will go there, she will listen, she hears me out and challenges me too. One best friend, the best kind of best friend, my spouse, is open to my meandering mind. For that, I’m greatly appreciative.

For everyone else, I’m sorry. I’m not really giving you my whole self when we talk. I’ll keep it simple, and shallow and small-minded, but not because I like it that way. I’m just too afraid to try and go deeper. I apologize for that.

Until next week, let your great mindedness blossom, step away from the average, drop the small stuff like a bad habit, and thank God, for the breath within you speak from your heart.


Aaron Nichols