Welcome to ONWARDS: the blog.

Once upon a time — sometime in the 1600s, to be more exact — a group of people figured out that when you put sliced potatoes in boiling oil, they taste really fucking good.

Over the years, love for the fried potato grew and grew and grew. Accessibility became widespread thanks to the emergence of the “frites stand” — vendors selling frites for takeaway.

One stand in particular rose above the rest. So much so that people traveled many, many hours to visit — even though there were many, many other stands much closer by.

This is a tale about hype culture.

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I booked myself a 20 hour layover in Istanbul.

Why?

Why not.

I’ve been feeling lonely, and I was overdue for a good ol’ solo adventure.

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How we pack for a trip says a lot about who we are as people.

Early or last minute? Roll or fold? Excitement or stress?

Listing these A/B scenarios, I realize that I am all of the above. Typical. Per usual, I have difficulty taking a side. Putting myself into a box.

I am large. I contain multitudes.

Thank God for packing cubes.

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Sunday. Memorial Day Weekend.

If ever there were a calendar day to consciously commit to doing nothing, I’d argue this is the one. Nothing at the beach. The park. Home in bed. Player’s choice.

I hereby decree this day: Rot Sunday.

In a total 180 from last week, this is an ode to anti-productivity. To nothingness.

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So, I started a new job last week — good!

Due to said job, I failed to find time in my schedule to write — not so good.

Once again being required to clock and commit to a certain number of working hours that had previously been dedicated to my own never-ending to-do list, I wonder…

How the hell does anyone work a 9–5 and still do anything for themselves?

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The more homecomings I have, the happier I am to be back.

One might assume the opposite of a perpetual traveler. But if you speak to people like myself, you’ll find that for most, a sense of home is not something to be avoided, but something to be sought.

Still, nothing can replace the original. 

New York — let’s boogie.

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Yesterday, I was craving pizza.

Fortunately, I happened to be in San Diego’s Little Italy, so I headed straight to the nearest slice shop. It was well-reviewed, and the pies looked promising. I ordered two specialty slices: one pepperoni hot honey, one white pesto. My total? 

Twelve dollars.

And it wasn’t even good.

How does anyone afford to live? 

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TODAY…

I return to the world of social media from a one week detox.

I thought I’d have something insightful to share, but I do not. I’m just reminded of how much more enjoyable life is when you’re fully in it.

When was the last time you lived solely for yourself?

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