It’s My Life

Tag: uncomfortable

  • Moving at Geological Speed

    These days, I move a little slower myself.

    Some of that comes from disability.
    Some of it comes from getting older.
    And some of it comes from living through enough hard moments to realize not everything needs to happen at full speed.

    Because of that, I see the world a little differently now.

    I used to get irritated watching retirees inch through parking lots like they had nowhere to be for the next thousand years. One careful step at a time. Shopping carts moving with all the urgency of continental drift.

    Now?

    I get it.

    When your body hurts, balance matters.
    When your brain has been through trauma, rushing has consequences.
    When you’ve survived enough life, speed stops feeling impressive.

    People don’t always see what slower movement costs someone.

    They just see “in the way.”

    They don’t see:

    • the careful footing
    • the dizziness
    • the joint pain
    • the exhaustion
    • the mental calculations happening every second

    Sometimes getting through a grocery store is the workout.

    Sometimes just being upright in public is the victory.

    And when you’re older and disabled, you become both things at once: the retiree moving at geological speed and the person silently trying to make it through the day without falling down.

    That changes your perspective.

    You start noticing how rushed everyone is.
    How impatient the world has become.
    How uncomfortable people get when someone can’t move at full speed anymore.

    But here’s the truth:

    Slower does not mean lesser.

    Some of the strongest people you’ll ever meet move carefully because they have to. Every trip outside the house is planned. Every ounce of energy matters. Every good day is appreciated differently.

    There’s also something freeing about no longer worshipping speed.

    You stop racing quite so hard.
    You notice more.
    You breathe more.
    You realize most things people panic about can wait another thirty seconds in the King Soopers parking lot.

    The funny part is, somewhere along the way, I became that guy.

    The one moving a little slower through the parking lot.
    The one thinking carefully before stepping off a curb.
    The one people impatiently steer around with their carts.

    Years ago, I probably would’ve noticed someone like me and thought:
    “Come on, man…”

    Now I understand there’s usually a story behind the slower pace.

    Sometimes it’s age.
    Sometimes it’s injury.
    Sometimes it’s survival.

    A lot of people are carrying more than you can see from ten feet away in a grocery store parking lot.

    So yeah.

    I am that guy now.

    And honestly, I’m just grateful I’m still moving at all.

  • Castle Rock, Gas Pumps, and the Art of Getting the Order Wrong (Until You Don’t)

    There are days when life in Castle Rock feels simple. Big sky. Dry air. A quiet rhythm to everything if you know where to look.

    And then there are gas pumps.

    If you know, you know.

    Two years after a stroke, I’ve learned something kind of unexpected: it’s not the big stuff that trips you up—it’s the tiny, invisible sequencing problems hiding inside everyday life. Give me a conversation, give me a long thought, give me meaning and memory and reflection—I’m good.

    But put me in front of a modern gas pump?

    Suddenly I’m in a four-step escape room designed by someone who hates me personally.

    Card in.

    Card out.

    Zip code.

    Select grade.

    Wait—no—don’t touch that yet.

    The machine changes its mind more than I do.

    The real issue isn’t the task. It’s the order. That invisible “what comes next” thread that used to run quietly in the background of everything… now occasionally tangles.

    So I do what works: I slow it down. I run a script.

    Card.

    Zip.

    Grade.

    Nozzle.

    Simple. Repeatable. Human-scale.

    And weirdly enough, that’s been the theme of a lot of life lately—breaking things down until they stop arguing back.

    Castle Rock is full of small tests like that

    Even the culture here has its own sequencing rules. First rule: if you’re going to call yourself local, you’d better know how to spell it.

    It’s Castle Rock. Two words. Always.

    Not “Castlerock.” Not “Castle rock.” Those are immediate tells. Like showing up to a job site with brand-new boots and no dirt on them. Technically fine… socially suspicious.

    And honestly, it’s funny how those little details matter here. Because this place is a mix of old Colorado rhythm and newer “did I move here last summer?” energy. You learn to spot the difference pretty quickly.

    The factory store economy of survival gear

    Then there’s the other Castle Rock institution: the outlet mall.

    It’s not really shopping here—it’s logistics.

    You don’t “browse” so much as you re-equip for reality.

    And one store in particular has earned its reputation: Columbia.

    That place isn’t about fashion. It’s about endurance.

    Jackets for wind that feels like it has a personal agenda. Layers for days when Colorado forgets what season it’s pretending to be. Gear that isn’t trying to impress anyone—it’s just trying to survive.

    It fits a certain mindset perfectly: buy it once, use it hard, keep it alive as long as physics allows.

    There’s a quiet pride in that. The kind of pride that shows up in a jacket that looks like it’s seen things… and is still refusing to retire.

    Everything becomes a system eventually

    The gas pump. The town spelling. The gear you wear. Even the errands you run.

    It all becomes sequencing.

    Step one. Step two. Step three.

    And when your brain doesn’t always trust the order anymore, you build your own version of the system. Slower. Clearer. Less automatic, more intentional.

    It’s not about fixing yourself. It’s about adapting the flow so life stops tripping over itself.

    Small wins still count

    Some days the win is big and obvious.

    Other days, it’s just:

    No mistakes at the gas pump.

    No frustration spike.

    No reset needed.

    Just clean execution of a tiny, ordinary task that used to feel like a moving target.

    And that’s enough.

    Actually—it’s more than enough. It’s how you stack stability back into place.

    One sequence at a time.

    Castle Rock

    CastleRock

    sequencing

    Stroke

    The Columbia Store

    Frustration spikes

  • Daily Journal — Thursday, March 26, 2026

    I feel uneasy today. There’s no clean reason for it, which almost makes it worse. Just one of those low-grade, background feelings like something’s off and I can’t quite tune it out.

    Maybe it’s the constant noise of the world lately. Maybe it’s politics creeping in again—hard not to notice when names like Donald Trump keep circling the conversation whether you invite them in or not. But if I’m being honest, it’s probably not just one thing. It’s everything stacked together.

    It feels like standing in a room that’s just slightly tilted. Nothing is falling over… but you know it could.

    Mentally, I’m pacing today. Physically, I’m here—working out one way or the other. Doesn’t have to be pretty, just has to happen. Movement over mood.

    Hash oil shipment is in. Just need to pay and pick it up—maybe this afternoon. A small mission on the board.

    “In time, Padawan… in time.” Even Yoda had to remind people to slow down and trust the process.

    So that’s the plan today: stay grounded, get the body moving, handle what’s in front of me, and not go chasing every uneasy thought that shows up.

    No heroics required. Just execution.

    Let’s see how this one plays out.