…the energy I’ve been trying to adopt in between the writing, the wine, and the planning of trips. In between the heartache, imposter syndrome, and anxiety about money and time as well. The breaths between the moments of life that lift us and drive us down.

Telgora’s been there the while. Watchtower is just the next step.

So, of course, more now than the wine, we have the memories. That night, the company, the lingering memories of just what a bottle like that means.

A celebration of form, of technique, of pushing limits and personal achievement.

Culinary nostalgia is some of the most severe.

Maybe there’s something of a solution there, I don’t know. Or else maybe this really was complaining. If it’s the latter, to whoever is reading this, know that none of us are perfect all the time and we all need breaks and moments to pause and reflect.

It is a story of perseverance and living as much as it is a murder-mystery and a book of philosophy (the latter inevitably a book about death). It is bewildering and deep without being dense, and I feel it is everything Snicket so idolizes when he expresses a desire for us all to read mysterious, bewildering literature that turns stories into magic. Into literature.

To listen to the wisdom of The Mitchells vs. the Machines, we’re all a little weird, too. And that’s great.

See the world a little differently and deeply, through natural talent or a dedication to preserving the ephemeral romance of life.

Staring up at these works reminds me that there’s some worth in just making something.