Bearded Gang

I synced with the Police for the first time in my life last night. Not the guys in blue the but the British band in the 80s. I am a polished representative of Generation X. I hit the 80’s in my right as my teenage years began. The musical genre captured me at the right time I have no doubt my love for music is bound by this era of music. To me and this is obviously a biased opinion, the 80’s will always be the greatest decade of music ever. Not here for an argument it’s my opinion.

I never got into the Police. Sting always came across as a smug shit when I would watch his interviews and I’ve heard the drummer who’s extremely talented was an asshat. I didn’t hate the band mind you but if one of their videos came on MTV it was time for a bathroom break or I had to refill my ice in my Pepsi (my family didn’t have HVAC back in those days). I came across their song Synchronicity last night on a random reel and sat and listened.

And I smiled

I didn’t like the Police or Sting because I couldn’t relate at the time. As a 13 year old kid it’s easy to understand why. I wasn’t ready. Nothing personal. They’re an extremely talented band. The crazy thing is I’ve owned this album for years. It’s in my deli as I type. I listened to the entire album front and back last night before bed.

It took 40 years to sync.

I connected with that album like two magnets.

I don’t have to break down the definition of synchronicity on here do I? Let’s define it the Jung way since he’s been in my ear for over a year now, synchronicities are “meaningful coincidences” that occur when an internal thought or feeling perfectly mirrors an external event, leaving you with a profound sense of connection. I’m not writing a term paper here so I’m not citing sources.

I had a profound connection with this album. How literal can you get synchronizing with an album about synchronization? It’s not mystical I’ve trained my brain to recognize synchronicities lately. Music especially. When I’m walking with music playing in my ears I’ll occasionally connect or reconnect with a song I’ve heard a hundred times and I’ll get a chill up my spine. Sort of a “pay attention” when a certain lyric comes on. Some songs you can hear a thousand times, sing along with it and have no idea the deeper meaning. Maybe because like me, you heard it as a child or young teen and it just became a lyric you sing in the shower. Or because the source just wasn’t your hotspot at the time. This happens to me sometimes when I’m on psilocybin. I can see the song lyrics highlighting in my head when they synchronize its incredible. It was a song playing in my headphones that woke me up in Hunting Island.

This whole album is a new album for me.

For the sake of brevity I’m not going to break down every song and lyric on this album. Also you may not get it.

Yet

Music does this to me a lot I can hear the same old song and wake up from one lyric or the entire song’s meaning will hit me.

Listen I’m into some wild stuff at the moment. Frequencies, synchronicities, resonances, matrixes, archons. It’s fun but I’m having to constantly ground myself to keep me from taking off to the moon. The first few months I absorbed quite a bit of downloads that had me all over the place. I’m just now starting to get it. I firmly believe some types of music have been planted like breadcrumbs to explain this reality we live in. To help us sync. The Police made a whole ass album about it.

I’m gonna go all over the place on here I’m sure of it but it’s my journal so I can.

Music connects you to other things.

Memories

Love

Fiction

Therapy

Timelines

Senses

Places

Van Halen’s album 5150 is my favorite album of all time. Not necessarily because it should be labeled as the greatest but it connects all of what I have just written above. I’m not a Sammy was better than Dave guy it was two entirely different bands and I’m allowed to enjoy both.

If you aren’t familiar with Sammy Hagar’s background he had an experience with what he refers to as a “download” wired to his brain in the late 60s. He was sober at the time and was asleep. Whether it was just a dream or Sammy actually had a telepathic encounter is up for interpretation I allow myself to believe something’s that others may not. 10 years ago I would’ve probably laughed. He even wrote a song about it in ‘77 “Crack in the world”

“Just fifty more years we’re all gonna know. 
Why, when, where, how, and who get’s to go. 
So let’s all have a good time before the great divide. 
‘Cause things will start separating come 2025. 
So look for the subtle clues 
It won’t make the front-page news. 
That depends upon which side that you choose.

That’s some weird shit coming from a guy who wrote “Mas Tequila!”

I hadn’t heard of his alien encounter until earlier this year and I was intrigued.

I cracked my head open in 2025. Not in the literal sense it’s when I had my awakening. The crack in the world I feel he’s referring to is the rise of consciousness. I’m gonna stop there because some of you are already preparing a tinfoil hat for me. No thanks I have my own.

Back to 5150. I’ve listened to this album more than any other album.

Ever

It didn’t sync until this year as I was working with my headphones on. Listening to this album of course.

“Love Walks In” it’s obvious to me now is referencing his encounter that night in the 60s.

“Contact is all it takes
To change your life to lose your place in time
Contact, asleep or awake
Coming around you may wake up to find
Questions deep within your eyes
Now more than ever you realize

And then you sense a change
Nothing feels the same
All your dreams are strange
Love comes walkin’ in
Some kind of alien
Waits for the opening
Then simply pulls a string

Another world, some other time
You lay your sanity on the line
Familiar faces familiar sights
Reach back remember with all your might
Oh there she stands in a silken gown
Silver lights shining down

So when you sense a change
Nothing feels the same
All your dreams are strange
Love comes walkin’ in
Some kind of alien
Waits for the opening
Then simply pulls a string
Love comes walkin’ in

Oh, sleep and dream is all I crave
I travel far across the milky way
To my master I become a slave
Till we meet again some other day
Where silence speaks as loud as war
Earth returns to what it was before

And then you sense a change
Nothing feels the same
All your dreams are strange
Love comes walkin’ in
Some kind of alien
Waits for the opening
Then simply pulls a string
Love comes walkin’ in

Love comes walkin’ in
Baby, pull the string
Love comes walkin’ in
Love comes walkin’ in yeah

I’ve listened to this song more than you and it’s always just been a solid song to howl while I drove my Nissan 200SX.

I’m singing along in my deli and suddenly a chill goes down my spine. I stop working and opened the lyrics I’ve been singing for 40 years and they all changed.

They synced up to me.

The song refers to remembering where you came from. Where you really came from. “Familiar faces familiar sights
Reach back remember with all your might”

“When you sense a change nothing feels the same all your dreams are strange= equal awakening

“Where silence speaks as loud as war
Earth returns to what it was before”

A mass accession. Splits the world spiritually = a crack in the world

Chad you’ve lost it. No sir. Quite the opposite. I’m syncing like a mofo

Track 4 – Dreams is about ascension

Best of Both Worlds? Literally talks about experiencing heaven on earth, abundance and transcendence.

Woah, you don’t have to die and go to Heaven / Or hang around to be born again / Just tune in to what this place has got to offer / ‘Cause we may never be here again.” 

Heaven and Hell are levels of consciousness. It’s within you. Some of you get in your feels when these things get brought up. It’s not intended to make you angry it’s just my perspective. It’s gaining traction more than ever.

*long sip of coffee

*small sigh

The entire album doesn’t talk about this. I imagine Eddie wanted some good head banging vibes too

But

This album resonated with me my entire life. I loved it.

It took 40 years to sync.

Time is irrelevant. It doesn’t really exist we created this shit. I actually synced to this album years ago I just caught up to the reason why this year.

OU812 is filled with code too.

Amazing

Chad’s lost it. I know. And I’m loving it.

Want some fun coded songs from the 80s?

Talking Heads – Once in a lifetime

Sledgehammer by Peter Gabriel references kundalini. What is kundalini? Look it up. Pretty much what I had happen to me in my tent.

“In your eyes” – coherence, soul recognition

Prince? 7 is heavily coded. When doves cry- ego death in relationship mirroring

Tears for Fears – Mad World – dissociation awareness

U2- bad – transcendence arc

They’re all out there waiting to sync

Download

Connect

Man I wish everyone could see this. Maybe you already have and it hasn’t quite synced in yet.

It’s all about love man. All of it.

I recall one night in Utah on psilocybin I came across in my mind what looked to be a piece of junk full of noisy cogs and broken gears. It jumbled around in front of me asking me the same question over and over “what binds the world together” and without thinking I replied

“Love”

The cogs and gears stopped moving and became one complete chest piece of some sort of gold and red armored chest piece (yes sort of like Iron man but much more majestic)

Almost like a chamber for your heart. It was like I had solved the ultimate puzzle. A 3D jigsaw.

We synced. This is as a year before my awakening. I think it was just the prelude.

I wish you could see what I see through my eyes right now. You’d get it. I’m starting to see the crack.

Man I’ve been writing for three hours I need to get to work .

Cheers

I’ve got around 9-10 months left on my current lease at Graze. Business is steady at the moment and that shiny 4.95 google/yelp rating out in the interwebs does bring a smile on my face. There’s no hiding my pride in my businesses. I may roll my eyes at consumers on a daily basis but I still give my best to be the best at whatever I do. I’m not competing with the local businesses I’m competing with me. I’ve dropped the fickleness with my deli for a bit. I’ve stuck with my last menu and I’m no longer moving furniture around. I’m in my still phase for the last year.

Observing

Analyzing

Contemplating

Resting

And most of all

Listening

I’m in no rush to make any decisions or plans. I’ve curated this business to allow me my availability to my lifestyle. Since April I’ve been weekend warring almost every week except for one where I needed some rest at home. Camping can push you around sometimes it’s why I do it.

I’m home by 5:15 with my fam. I’ve got my morning routine ducks in a row.

It pays my bills and affords a little recreation. That’s all well and good unless I break a leg or arm then life gets interesting. I’ve gone 54.9 years without a broken bone. I’ve done everything else to this body other than that. I guess I’m a bend don’t break person I’ve bounced off a many a things checking for cracks and fractures. They say the ones that go through life having never broken a bone always go through a harder time with their emotions and mental health issues. Still, I feel like I got the better part of the deal on that one. I’ve cracked my brain a few times but at least I can still walk and climb. I’m lucky, my lifestyle is not a sedentary one. How many people can say they’ve been hit by three cars and walked away without a scratch?

Tangent

Sorry – coffee

I’m not sure what or where my life will go towards next year.

But

I’m listening

With my heart, soul and mind.

I’m listening

Should I stay or should I go

I enjoy my deli. I’m not a fan of my parking lot limiting access to it. Also it takes more than a fresh coat of paint to liven me up. I like to tear shit down and reset. It’s fun but expensive.

I’m not only listening I’m watching for signs. I’m depending a lot on my trail markers. Trail markers are what got me here in the first year place. Some flash before my eyes while others are much more subtle. It’s the subtle ones I’m looking for.

Chadcuterie turns 6 this year.

6

Trail markers built chadcuterie. I’m not going to break that one down again here, I’m not writing an essay today but they did. After one complete year I told my wife I was going to focus on a storefront after my third year if it remained successful. 2024 I opened Grazeland. All I did was go with the flow of my life. If I had a slow week, in my head I’d think- “I guess this is it, it’s over.” And then the next week I’d get my ass handed to me. The deli is the same. I’ll go a whole week pulling my beard hair out and then get a phone call for 50 lunch boxes for the next day or a last minute grazing table. Each time it happens I have to remind myself to let go of control and just flow.

Stop fighting the current.

Sit in stillness and listen

And I do

Current

I guess I’m currently sitting in the current. Sounds odd when you put those two together in one sentence.

I’ve got 52 charcuterie boxes going to a farm this evening. Today is already a good one and I haven’t left my house yet. I recognize the reason to be grateful. I embrace it daily.

But

Something is pulling me elsewhere. Has been for a while. Not like a leash. More like a tributary. I’m flowing pretty good. I’m being told to look for forks. No, not those you know how I love my metaphors. I spend many a times in the mirror asking my reflection to help me remember who I was before everyone told me what to be.

I don’t dislike the deli but how many times can you watch the same tv series over and over before it no longer makes you lose interest. The charcuterie/deli is just an extension of the service industry. The Restaurant River. I’m indentured in a faceless servitude.

That was negative and not intended.

This industry has taken care of my bank account at the expense of my mental health.

That’s all

I look at my long tenures

Hyatt 3 years

Blockhouse 3 years

Arizona 16 years

Southern Culture hospitality 8 years

And now charcuterie 5.5 years

That’s my whole resume y’all. Theres some vocational crumbs in between the seats here and there but this makes up my professional life.

All tributaries seem to lead to other service industry options. I’m seeking a different one. I may be 100 miles away right now. I have to ride the current which is what I’m doing.

Currently

I’m at ease. Why? Because for the first time I trust the current.

I’ve fought it in the past and lose every time. John Cougar should redo his authority song “I fight the current and the current always wins” because it does. So awhile back I said fuck it, grabbed and inner tube and took it for a ride. That’s where I am right now

Currently

Hundreds of hours of meditation will change a fellow. I want to do more fasting. Have you tried fasting in this industry? It ain’t easy when you surrounded by cheesy. Man I love cheese.

Currently

I’m lying on my back in the river. Toes sticking out of the water in front of me. I’m riding the current with a little smile on my soul.

Currently, looking for my tributary.

Toes by the fire

Tailgate perches

Sunrise glazed eyes

Second sip of coffee

Silent winds across the gorge

Peaceful sittings

Lap blankets

Morning chills

Yes the evening ones too

Hammock point of views

And camper window perspectives

Axe resting fireside

Logs dried, stacked dutifully nearby

A good sitting chair facing east in the morning

West works just as well after dinner

The smell of dirt

Trees smiling above with adoration

Soul released into the wild

Finding its flagship above

Reverence of coherence

Coherence of reverence

Take the picture in my mind

And I smile

I’m in a good zone. I spent my weekend hanging out with an old friend of mine from my Hyatt days in the early 90s. Whenever anyone asks how we met I often say “we lugged luggage together”. If you’re a fan of Justified, the TV series one of the last quotes when Raylan Givens describes his longtime relationship with his antagonist Boyd Crowder he replied “we dug coal together”. Justified is one of my favorite series of all time. As a straight man I will admit that Timothy Olyphant makes me moist. Shane and I shared the same side of the coin for a bit, hauling luggage when we were 19-20. Shane always made me laugh at work and still does to this day. I have found that the older you get the more your friends priorities change. It’s a trail of life we all come to accept. When I arrived at the campground I let the camp host know I had another friend coming and he said everything would be fine unless it was a bus load of friends. I responded with “I no longer have enough friends to fill a bus” and he was like “Hell son I don’t have enough to fill that bench outside the office. It’s a part of growing old” I don’t get called son that often anymore. Especially from a man who’s probably 10 years my elder. I rarely dress or act like a 54 year old man but I don’t look 40 either..

But

I got the old timers point. Friends are paramount in a healthy life and society. It’s when you realize the number isn’t as important as the love you receive from them. I got a lot of friends. I’ve got a small handful I can count on. In all honesty it’s all I need. I used to measure my popularity by the number of seats that were filled for my birthday celebrations. We’d fill up a whole bar. The last few years have been with my wife and daughter. My 53rd was the three of us at a small table in a semi fancy steakhouse. It’s the one I always think about over the others. My next one is in three months and I hope it’s the exact same. I’ll hang with friends anytime. I love my friends and I’ve been blessed with some good ones. Growing apart is accepting your love still exists but precious time chews it up and spits it out. Shane and I recently found a bond where we can still take time out to enjoy our friendship and I’m grateful for it. I don’t always go camping to seek solitude. It’s just as beneficial to share some of that energy with others. This was our fourth camping experience together in the last two years.

I’ve found as you get older your focus or at least mine turns toward love. Maybe as your gears begin to grind down over time you start to lose your jade. I spent many a year jaded for things that I was responsible for but blamed it on others. Reminiscing on hate and bitterness is a sour way to walk around. I find myself saying “love” more than “hate” in fact I try to make it a point to not use that word hate anymore. I no longer allow it to set my precedence for the day. I’ve gotten rather attached to this feeling of love and I’m not letting it go. It’s really the only thing I haven’t let go of. I’m in a good spot mentally. You can mend your mental mood swings over time. I’m walking, living, shitting proof.

Yesterday I paddled to an island with a small daddy long legs riding along on my board. It would hide under my water seat I brought with me for the ride and pop out occasionally while I sipped coffee in the middle of the lake. My concern for a small insect’s safety was much different than it used to be. 6 years or so ago the spider would’ve been thumped into oblivion or an easy toe crunch under my shoe. I made sure it found some sanctuary after I pulled back onto land. I literally walked it back onto land and watched it wander off.

A spider

This is the same guy who wrestled all week with the urge to drive three hours back up a mountain to find a chicken who hung with me for two days.

It’s a vibe watching the clay you’ve been molding for a few years slowly come to life. I’ve been deliberately curating a new me for a large chunk of my 50’s.

I’ve opened my mind to so many different things during this process. A faucet of love.

It’s my new facet.

You ever sit still with tears streaming down your face from gratitude? I could go live right now.

You begin to hit on some points in your life without even trying. I’m here now riding the wave. I’m keeling even right now. Spending a couple of days in the mountains with a friend can do this and it did. I’m relaxed and intend to hang out with this emotion for the rest of the day.

And now I can store it to use for another day whenever I want. My body is still a little crooked from paddling, hiking and sleeping out of my truck. It feels like I’m digesting an amazing meal.

Letting life flow. I watched the ripples in the lake for half an hour yesterday morning with a cool breeze and not a single boat on the water. As an early riser, you sometimes get the whole world to yourself. I sat by the campfire while my buddy fished on the lake shore line. I had Marshall Tucker band on my little speaker dangling off my tailgate. Belly full of food, giant fucking smile on my face.

That’s my life now folks. I’ve found it. It makes me want to cry.

In a good way.

*humble brag

I made a friend with a spider for God’s sake. Who am I now?

I’m gonna go for a walk before work. I’m gonna smile the whole way.

Later gators

It’s 3pm on a mild Sunday afternoon, I’m sitting on a low ridge overlooking a large lake, I’d say rests about a mile away if you could fly to it. I’m perched in my truck bed camper, awning windows at half mast, tailgate wide open while I continuously shoo away a wild chicken from trying to make my truck its coop. A small handful of tortilla chips had made the fowl a friend forever.

But

She’s a little overbearing. She pecks my feet for attention and follows me around like I have a key to a corn silo. I have a makeshift water bowl on the outskirts of my camping area so she can peck her way to hydration. Not sure what she’s doing for a water source the nearest reservoir would be the aforementioned lake one mile or so (bird’s flight) from my tailgate. Unfortunately for this fowl there is no flight available for H2O. I suppose she could flutter for a bit but the wilderness is quite thick up here. I’ve become attached to this little chicken unfortunately my home in downtown Greenville isn’t chicken friendly and I’m surrounded by cats. How this little unfried bird has managed to make it all on its own up here I’m unsure. Did someone do a drop and run or maybe it wandered up from one of the farms down the mountain. That would be quite a trek. The nearest domestic hood is 2 miles away. She’s not shy by any means and I’m certain I’m not the first to give her a handout. I know you aren’t supposed to feed the wildlife but this one is a tad more domesticated than most. It’s only a matter of time before it becomes a snack or a meal for one of the larger animals that hang up here. I’ve seen owls up here big enough to pick up a schnauzer. Maybe it’s a birds of a feather thing up here. I can’t be sure.

I’m primed for two days of solitude and quiet.

I brought a 3 gallon water jug I use for ware washing, bathing and warmed up about a third for a shower. I take the hot water and mix it with the remaining two gallons of cold and place a rechargeable shower hose in it for rinsing off my morning adventures. I did a slow but steady hike up the gravel road nearby and then a 20 minute workout with my old TRX ropes. The ropes are a handy tool for an easy workout away from the gym. I hang them down from my roof rack and do my thing. Made an easy meal of steak and eggs along with a cantaloupe I took from work. I snacked on a ripe peach and a tin of smoked mussels with some cocktail sauce I had also made at work. I do most of my meal prep pre camp. Owning a kitchen makes meal planning easier than trying to create from scratch in the wilderness with an extroverted chicken who has become a temporary roommate. I felt terrible eating my momofuku noodles with rotisserie chicken right in front of the chicken last night. She seemed unbothered.

I arrived at my destination around 6:30 Saturday night. Saturdays the mountain is usually littered with occupants but a light drizzle all day must’ve scared most people away. I never got a drop. It was one of those days that you could hear it, smell it, see it but not feel it. The clouds let me be. I popped a squat at the first clearing I found and it was a good one. This one comes with a vibe of nostalgia. I started coming up here in my last Tacoma back in 2019. I wasn’t trying to explore much in those days if I found a good spot it was good enough for me and this one being closer to the road I come in on before climbing the mountain made it an easy choice. I’ve probably stayed in this spot over two dozen times. I used to sit next to my cooler and drink vodka on ice as the sunset. Pass out in my little camper and go hiking further up the mountain the next day. I leave the cooler at home now and bring a little fridge for food and water and one beer. No vodka anymore I gave the bottle and hangovers up. Itll be 4.5 years tomorrow now that I think about it.

No blackouts, no shots no regrets.

Took a nap on top of my camper while I tried to get a some sun on my shoulders. According to John Denver it brings happiness.

And he would be correct.

The chicken would’ve joined me if it were able I have no doubt. My perch was more perch than she could reach.

I’m in my element of coherence. I love the deliberation involved with camping up here.

The process of boiling water for my coffee and bathing while keeping inventory on my water supply.

Portioning out my food supply for my 5 to 6 meals

Setting up my remote kitchen

Searching for dry deadfall for my evening and morning fires

Building and maintaining said fires it got a little chilly up here last night with the afternoon rain and light wind

You don’t take anything for granted up here. Phone signal is touch and go if you’re even “lucky” enough to have one. No bathrooms so just use your imagination. Air conditioning? Cmon now. I’ve got two little ecoflow batteries to charge my fridge and everything else. If the juice runs out before I leave then oh well. I’ll get solar one day it’s not that important to me at the moment.

Propane is my cooking method unless I choose to cook over the fire. I do enjoy a slow cooking skillet over coals. No need for it with just me most of the time so I don’t take it. Food tastes better up here. The deliberate process of cooking outdoors with no facilities, no sinks, no dishwasher, oven or microwave. You cook your meals and eat in silence. No tv on in the background, no phone scrolling. You sit and you eat before whatever forages around you eats it first. An unattended snack can disappear quick or be taken over by hostile insects. You can’t put dishes in the sink, can’t leave leftovers or trash out for later.

Eat

Clean

Rest

As intended

Bed time? No final tv shows to watch I stay up until my fire has burned itself out. It’s like hearing the star spangled banner on the old tube when the shows sounded off. I recall it always played right after Saturday Night Live in the 70s. It was the only time I was allowed to stay up late. I don’t stay up late out here. 9pm I’m in my truck. 30 minutes of soft music in my ears and I’m in bed. I like my coffee with the sunrise and sometimes I have to drive to find it.

I like the fire coals slightly warm for the next day. Some dried twigs and brush and you won’t even need a match for your morning fire the next day. Sometimes. Rain may decide to choose to drown it out.

Speaking of rain, you’re a slave to the elements out here. I can sit under my awning if it’s a small rain shower but the wind does its own thing up here. Mountain ranges go by their own weather system. The weatherman can predict all he wants but up here the weather is decided by the mountains. Somedays you just ride it out in your truck bed, other times you crawl in your driver’s seat in the middle of the night and hope your car’s faraday cage keeps you from becoming electrocuted by the lightning storms. I’ve had fog so thick up here in the mornings that I’ll just pull over on the ridge until it rises so I don’t fall off.

Sounds terrible, maybe? Makes me feel alive. Charcuterie is mundane to the max. I always come back home a pound lighter and a story heavier.

This is how we are meant to live. Period. Once this hits you you’ll never want to go back to domestication. I love to wake up pop open truck tailgate to see what the day holds in store for me. I may wake up to the sun rising at my feet or a small creek running through my camp from the rain. I live for it all

I’ve made a friend out of a chicken today.

I’m making walking tacos for dinner (with beef) and taking a stroll down a game trail in front of my campsite.

I spent my last night, actually the entire day around my site. The early morning hike would be my last adventure as I found lounging in the back of my truck with all the things wide open a sensible shade. Mosquitoes are stealthier up here but they weren’t as bad. Maybe my little chick friend was pecking on them for lunch? I’ve mentioned before I do two types of camping. One where I sort of nomad it for the trip, hike, bike, paddle or explore. Other times I come up to unplug and sort of hang at camp. This one I took to the extreme. I turned my truck off at 6:15 Saturday evening and didn’t open the front of my truck back up until 5:30am Monday morning. With the exception of a 30 minute walk Sunday morning to loosen my legs after sleeping I stayed at camp.

I read

Meditated

Talked to my chicken.

I alternated between my chair under my awning and my camper “sofa”

And hung out with the chicken

You get the relationship between Tom Hanks and Wilson the volley ball in Cast Away. I camped for about 48 hours and I got rather attached to the fowl. It was attached to me too. It would peck me with its beak periodically to see if I was edible. The only difference with Wilson was a volley ball isn’t edible. That chicken would’ve been lunch first day stranded on an island but I still get it. By the second day I was having adult conversations with a flightless bird. Chickens eat anything. You want a body to disappear to bones throw it in the coop. Want the bones gone? Give em to the pigs. I may have to buy a farm..

Around 7:30pm the chicken wanders off without a word. Pops back in for coffee the next morning and stays the entire day. I didn’t see one creepy crawler all day. Chicken was on point. If the chicken stopped and stared out into the high grass I did too. I had a guard chicken. Nothing can stop me. When I tried to nap I could pinpoint my chicken’s latitude and longitude by its constant tuk-tuk puttering around my campsite.

“Friend sleep! I guard” – chicken

“Later he feeds me potatoes!” – same chicken

Yeah I got a little attached. I left camp to seek a sunrise, when I drove back I stopped at my camp to make sure I tidied up and called for my friend but she didn’t pop out. I left it some water and a salt and vinegar chip and headed home.

I came home, unpacked and finished my weekend of relaxation on my sofa. When I went to bed the last words I said to my wife was

“I miss the chicken”

she patted me on the head with a “bless your heart” and I went to sleep.

Twas a good time.

Cheers to chickens

I’ve got Pink Floyd resonating in my headphones. I went 54 years without much appreciation for Pink Floyd. I’d always acknowledged they were an amazing band, unique and talented. I never gravitated towards them. It could be my brother played them endlessly when we shared a bedroom I’m not sure. You won’t find a single album of theirs in my deli but you will soon. The last year or so I’ve become a fan, a big fan. Not sure what triggered it I think it may have to do with my lifestyle change. I rarely listen to hard music anymore.

I like soothing

Mild

Laidback

Slower beats

Music reflects your mood and vice versa. Floyd has been my mood. I’m not sure there have been any other musicians that have reentered my life in such a way. I think it’s a reflection of direction. If you observe your musical preferences as they change or evolve it’s a map of where your mood and mind are and where they may be heading. It’s not that deep y’all I’m referring to daily or weekend moods. Pink Floyd was iconic well before I threw my opinion out there I’m just catching up to them. I’ve gone through seasons of deleting genres and bands on my phone because I’ve just worn them out overtime.

Avetts- all gone

Isbell is taking a long break

Johnny Cash, can’t listen to him right now.

Doesn’t mean I don’t love their music it just doesn’t fit me at this time. It’ll come back. I wear a hoodie everyday but right now it doesn’t work for me. Wrong season.

De La Soul is in my top 10 currently

Johnny Blue Sky ain’t going anywhere.

Marshall Tucker Band has been on replay I haven’t listened to them in decades

Tears for Fears, I just downloaded their entire catalog, one of the most underrated bands of the 80s

Florence and the machine.

These are the bands where I don’t change the song if it comes on right now. I’ve listened to the Wall half dozen times this week. I’ll be purchasing the album soon. Barry, my one employee, will be pleased. He’s a big Floyd fan. He looks like one. Not sure why I just said that.

My new morning practice recently is fixing my handwriting. I’ve been spending about 20 minutes a morning slowly and deliberately leveling out my writing. I’ve never had good handwriting but once upon a time it had been legible. Years of writing shorthand food orders on a notepad have wrecked my handwriting. My hands are calloused and my wrists are stiff from knife work. I want to hold a pen or marker like a blade. When I write I can read it but no one else can. I write before I think so I oftentimes combine words when I’m in a hurry and well I’m always in a hurry in my world. Example: Sometimes when taking an order and someone asks for a Reuben and an Italian I’ll wrote out Reubian and Italen or Reubentalian. I used to win spelling bees in middle school.

I’m not practicing writing to win a calligraphy contest, I’m doing it to slow my pace and thinking down. If I can slow down my writing I can slow down my thinking. Overthinking will be subdued. My letter fonts don’t match. I blend in upper case and lower, I half write in cursive, my words aren’t even I can’t place them in a straight line.

Writing should be fluid. I’m seeking fluidity with my writing and thoughts. If there’s any craft that’s directly connected to your mind and hands it’s handwriting. I’ve been writing random words and letters slowly, methodically. It’s hard for me. When I’m writing a sentence it starts ok and then ends in an ink skid mark. Now take that and apply it to everything I do. I start off slow and deliberate towards the end I’m hurrying to get shit over with. I have the propensity for sloppy work when I get that way. You won’t see it in my craft at work but you’ll see it reflected in my mise en place. It’s destroyed. My work station becomes chaotic because I move in one speed.

Why handwriting? It’s a form of art for communication and expression.

It forces me to think and act slowly, deliberately

I’m synchronizing my motor system and my attention system

My internal dialogue is forced to slow down. I’m in control. My mind is not taking a dump on me it’s slowly releasing.

Emotionally regulating

And last but not least I was directed to it. Trail markers have spoken. One morning my wandering mind stopped, looked up at me and said “you should work on your handwriting”

Ok

My life has changed for the better when I’m listening

Handwriting.

A wordsmithing of letters

It pings. And when things ping I must allow

Ping a ling

Sounds mild until you do it. My built in therapist knows what it’s talking about. Your body will direct you to do some random things when you sit quietly for a while. I went to buy a regular ole notebook last week. It’s filled with letters, words and nothing else. I suppose they all are if you want to be literal.. an occasional coffee cup stain.

Cheers

I walked back into the guest bedroom in our old home with my old notebook I used for writing menu notes and manager meeting points and sat down on the floor. I slowly tore out all the pages with past notes and recipes. It wasn’t much I always forgot my notebook for meetings and would buy another one on the way in. I probably had a dozen notebooks with three or four pages of notes at the most. I rarely looked back at them unless it was for a new menu or concept. I sat on the old carpet in that back room for a bit and cried. It was early morning, most likely hungover I had locked the door behind me to insure some privacy. I

It was September 30th, 2020. I was newly unemployed after parting ways with my company I founded 8 years before. I was completely lost, my mind filled with self destructive thoughts and boy was it angry also.

Pen in hand I opened that freshly shredded notebook and wrote- “you need to slow down”

I wrote it over and over again

“you need to slow down”

“you need to slow down”

“you need to slow down”

I filled the entire page with that repetition.

“you need to slow down”

I looked down at what I wrote. A look of indifference on my face. An almost questionable expression as I reread what I wrote. Handwriting all over the place, my hands were still shaking from drinking the night before.

“you need to slow down”

That’s all I wrote. I closed the notebook, shoved it under some assorted clothes in the bottom dresser drawer reserved for seasonal clothes and never looked at it again. The thought was discarded as quickly as the sentences were written. I have no idea where that notebook is today. Most likely tossed out during our move the following few months. The notebook itself holds no value to me whatsoever.

But

What I wrote at that moment will always hold the most value and significance of where my life would begin its new trajectory.

You see, I didn’t write that. I did not write

“you need to slow down”

My hand did. My eyes witnessed it and my memory will serve the statement that “Chad wrote this”

But I didn’t.

That was the first time I met him.

Met who?

Me

The future me. That’s who

I never wrote that sentence. I looked down at my notebook thinking “why the fuck did I write this out?”

“you need to slow down”

I shrugged my shoulders, wiped my tears off my cheek and put on my “I’m fine” mask as I walked back out of the room. What I had written was quickly discarded, I had a box of old work t-shirts on my mind that had to be thrown away in my company’s dumpster (I was petty for quite a while)

I never saw that notebook again but I can close my eyes and see that one page I filled with the same lines over and over again like I had wrote it seconds ago. Ink still wet. As quickly as I discarded the message and notebook after I wrote it never left my mind.

Like a small tattoo you forget about until you see it in a full length mirror, I get occasional reminders. It’s the future me touching base. It’s taken me years to realize this and a hundred dozen trajectories that highlight my path to my future self.

When you read my journaling about my work and future it’s not that I’m lost, I’m only listening who’s speaking to me. I’m waiting for the next chapter to be released.

Auto writing comes to me at times. I recognize who it is now.

This isn’t mystical. Time is irrelevant. There’s an infinite number of paths I can choose or have already chosen for my own future. A lot of whispers. I’m listening for clarity not murmurs. I’ve devoted hours of meditation for stillness, focus, shadow work, regulation and integration.

I listen. I don’t get it or nail it every time but I hear it. I observe it.

“you need to slow down”

I didn’t get the automatic writing thing until one day as I was journaling my typing announced “your reckoning is over”. I still get chills when I read that. Have you ever had someone or something express themselves out of you? It’s a wild ride.

“your reckoning is over”

My future self letting me know enough is enough. “You’ve done your time, let’s move on.”

Same person. Same one that turned the light on in the back of my mind to tell me that my drunk days were coming to an end.

Me -“whatever dude we’ve been down this road before”

The light “you’ll quit when you’re ready”

Tom Petty Learning to Fly is on my headphones I swear to god when you’re listening things will speak to you. Excuse me while I pause and listen for 4:40 minutes.

“Now some say life

Will beat you down

And it’ll break your heart

Steal your crown

So I started out

For god knows where

But I guess I’ll know

When I get there”

*wipes away a tear

If you know you know.

I’m learning to fly

I’m not chasing my future self. I’m resonating with it. I’m following the attraction riding the current.

Integrating

I’m listening to me. The present me will guide my future. I ripped my rearview mirror off about a year ago. Hell you can’t even see out of my truck’s rearview anymore how somewhat prophetic.

You see

I’ve begun to slow things down.

Because I told myself to years ago. That’s why it’s still fresh in my mind because I just caught up to it. I’m writing it as we speak.

It was me, here now at this moment.

I’m catching up to that person I’m meant to be.

I’ve slowed things down

And it’s beautiful.

I’d enjoy cooking much more if I didn’t get paid for it. I appreciate the skills that I have honed over time that have allowed me to make a living out of it but cooking has been shoved down my throat for decades now. If it’s not the cooking part it’s the serving part, overseeing the production of such items. It’s so overdone- to me and 💯 it’s completely me. Even when I see friends of mine with amazing talent showcase their food I am unfazed. Not in a sense that the food is meh, my reaction to food is meh.

Food service has owned me for most of my adult life. I watched my father do the same thing until he couldn’t. I keep my body as level as possible. Sick days mean no pay. I look at some of my old food posts and occasionally smile.

“I made that. I created that before 40 other places in town started doing the same thing.” That’s all food is now for the most part, replication of imitation. Not everyone but most. There’s still some good stuff floating around out here in town. Unique but not forced or over the top. Some of my old pics I’ll delete for good. I tried to force some odd ideas onto a plate just to see what would happen. I’d fuck up waffles for a while or I’d throw a dare on a plate. I recall deep frying cream cheese icing for a waffle special. I never counted calories while making a special. Decadence sells at brunch. Why do you think you see those ridiculous Bloody Mary bar skewers? Whole fried chicken on a skewer with a double cheeseburger and a wedding cake on top. I hate those things so much. I don’t even go on Greenville foodies anymore. I can’t take this town’s palette. I’m a hater I’ll be the first to admit it.

I spent my two days off camping to disassociate from the world and then came back home to immediately work on a 15 foot grazing table. Biggest I’ve ever done. I crafted a sushi boat filled with prosciutto wrapped up like sushi rolls with cucumber rolls filled with pimento cheese and salami. Bought some small clay pots and made mini crudités bowls with them topped with sunflower picks. Turned some fruit into some edible origami, folded around 6 lbs of uncured meats, made about 8 different spreads. Spent a day off finding new wooden platters and bowls because these take a beating over time. Created two of these 15 foot grazing tables back to back within 48 hours of each other. With one finger tied behind my back I sliced it open while cooking in the mountains Sunday evening. It needed stitches but the ER was about 90 minutes away if you add the time it would’ve taken me to pack up my shit with a finger squirting blood all over my campsite. I wrapped it up with a paper towel and tied two of my daughter’s hair bands around it. You need both hands for charcuterie. Index fingers being the most useful phalanges. I feel like I’m authoring for sympathy here and that’s not the direction I’m trying to go with. I cut my fingers all the time. That’s why I was out of bandaids while camping. It’s like an electrician getting shocked. It’s part of the job. Finger is still wrapped up. I don’t want the half of my fingernail dangling to bump anything.

Where were we

The tables looked great. One had to be delivered to Columbia an hour and half away in 85° heat. I drove 10 miles over the speed limit to keep it from getting hot. My truck is well insulated with an airmax fan but a AC controlled van would’ve been better. Went into work before the roosters warmed up and got back home from cola by 7 ish. My wife, who has a full time job, is my helper most of these days. I know it takes a toll on her too.

I pull up to these events and I get lauded by my clients.

Praised

Admiration

And I feel nothing.

I smile. I’m very appreciative of the words and encouragement.

But

I feel nothing much after that.

It’s tough being creative without the passion. This is what I struggle with everyday. It was the same at Southern too toward the end. 30 feet of charcuterie in 48 hours is a lot. Throw in a few box orders that I allowed to slip through just in case the sandwich side didn’t pull its weight. It rarely does. Somedays I stand behind my prep table and wonder if anyone has made as much charcuterie in their entire lifetime as I have in the last 5 years? That’s not a flex for me. I struggle sometimes when my head isn’t wanting to agree with my day and it begins screwing with me -“ you’re just replating food”. There’s more to it than that I know but sometimes my mind knows how to piss me off.

I’ve got 10 months left on my lease.

I’m a big believer of create more than you consume. This is the way. My paradox is that my creating is forced and consumes most of the time. On slow days when I’m inside the deli I’m like a caged wild animal. “Why am I not outside? Why do I have to stay inside these walls staring at this building across the street that’s been under ugly construction for the past year and a half?”

Listen

I love what I do

Until I don’t

30 feet of grazing tables is wild man. Like painting a tapestry with a deadline.

Twice

I’m limping today. My body does that when it’s tired I rarely notice anymore.

I’m letting things out folks. Nothing more. I also smiled when I woke up this morning. A smile of accomplishment and gratitude. The tables went down perfect. The timing was immaculate, the pay was worthwhile. Almost a month’s worth of charcuterie forecast in two days. I smiled because the work is done and I can go on with my day. This catering had been sitting in the back of my mind for three months. Ive got another one in about 6 weeks. Piece of cake now I’ve got two under my belt. I remember my first grazing table back in 2021 I didn’t sleep the night before. I was much more anxious back in my drinking days.

The table looked good y’all. Both of them did.

I just don’t want my legacy to be that guy who made kick ass charcuterie.

Marshall Tucker is singing to me in my headphones just at the right time

“And I’m searching for a rainbow

And if the wind ever shows me where to go”

“I’ll say to hell with that pot of gold”

That’s all.

Peace ☮️ and love ❤️

I miss reading the newspaper. Sunday newspapers were my favorite. Big, thick and full of juicy news and stories. I never had a newspaper subscription but when I was the GM of the steakhouse I worked for 16 years, we had the Greenville News delivered to us daily. I’d walk out front of the building right after I turned off the alarm to grab the morning paper. I’d turn on the coffee machine and brew my first morning coffee while I counted the bar till to $300 and walk the previous evening’s cash deposit to the bank. This was the late ‘90s people paid with cash much more often than they do now. I was scheduled to work at 9 but I’d get there half an hour early to give me time to enjoy a cup of coffee and read the news. During this era of my life my morning pre work routine was abbreviated. I’d wake up 40 minutes before work. Shower, shave and eat a bowl of cereal while standing next to my kitchen sink. Sleeping in was imperative at that time. I still had alcohol in my veins from the night before. There was no scrolling, no emails to answer from my phone my desktop at work housed all those conversations. I didn’t watch the news on tv, I still don’t.

I’d unroll the newspaper and sit at one of the deuces by the bar. I’d have my double brewed coffee, thicker than molasses, sitting next to the paper, two empty sugar packets with the stirring spoon holding them down as to not stain the table. Ashtray filled with my first Marlboro light of the morning, open book of matches I never used lighters.

Front page was never my first choice unless some crazy shit happened the day before and I wanted to catch up. It wasn’t like it is today. Big news might’ve been every two weeks or so now it’s a partly cloudy with a chance of apocalypse every morning. Sports page was my go to. I’d carefully unfold the newspaper and separate the sections. Baseball season was my favorite time to read the paper. I was a stat junkie for years I could recite every Braves starting lineup along with their stats before every game. I knew Maddux’s era better than he did. I knew Chipper would have a better game that night because he was facing a right handed pitcher. I’d moan along with McGriff when he’d go into a slump. College football too. I’d pour over the stats of my favorite players on Sunday mornings. Sports section seemed much lighter when football and baseball seasons were over. The front page was always the last part I’d read. Comics, of course, were a fav of mine. Bloom County will always be the best one for me with Calvin and Hobbs being a close second. Peanuts for nostalgia sake. BC, Zits and Herman. I still haven’t laughed at a Doonesbury strip.

Crosswords were done in ink I was cocky. Jumbles next and crytptoquotes if I wasn’t too hungover. Two cigarettes while I filled in all the game blanks. Starched shirt hanging in the office so I wouldn’t smell like cigarette smoke before smelling like hickory smoke for the entire shift. I’d scan over the obits for familiar names. This is how we used to find out one of our old acquaintances died. Morbid but it was a part of life. I even read the classifieds on Sundays and clipped some sales ads that I’d never use.

My early days at the Hyatt I worked the 5am shift, my job was to deliver the USA Today to all of the Hyatt VIP members. Sometimes I’d have a stack of hundred plus, holidays I may only have five. By the end of my short career there I could toss the papers under the doors without slowing down. It was the USA Today that I’d drive down from my campsite in the Rockies to pick up to see what was going on in the world of Chad. I had no cellphone or TV. I spent a month up there without a clue of what else was going on in the world. It changed my entire life. It’s the life I’m chasing again.

When we had newspapers the news felt more stable. Our sources were reputable, journalists had more credibility and heart. Now I no longer know what or who to believe so I have to make my own judgements.

Buying the Sunday newspaper on my way to Sunday morning breakfast will always be a peaceful memory. I used to keep a few on important days. I still have one from a photographer that took a candid shot of me and my daughter standing over my stepfather’s grave on Memorial Day. One of my favorite photos ever.

Newspaper got me fired from the Hyatt. My arrest was in the paper when I received my DUI. One of the execs caught it and turned me into HR. I was head of transportation. They didn’t want the public black eye. I don’t blame the newspaper though.

Great for packing dishes, swatting flies or hitting an employee over the head. Or so I’ve heard.

The news was just different then. Now? Everyday is breaking news. I think it’s time for some fixing news. I don’t do the news anymore I’m surrounded by it from everyone else’s opinion, agenda, outtake and rage. It’s like a mob of angry people orating the world news. Bring me back the days of the consolidation of information. World is too big for me to made aware of all its problems.

Too much static.

Peace ☮️

I had a decent day at the deli yesterday. Not the best Saturday ever but not the worst. In my head I play “guess your sales total today” when I walk into work and it landed right around what I expected or just a tad under. In comparison to the rest of the week it was decent. Lunch has been slow as was the charcuterie orders up until Saturday. April is a slower month for me. It’s hot and cold. It’s one of the reasons I choose April as a travel month. Same goes for September although the possibility of late summer weddings always helps.

The deli is still odd to me with my forecasts. It does what it wants when it wants. I have little control over the flow other than maintaining consistency and I’m pretty darn good at that by now.

After 3ish I was able to sit for a bit and take a break. I had little activity on social media earlier, it was one of my take a break from scrolling mornings I do every other day. I opened up my memories on fb and reread what I had written a year ago today. I had titled it “One hour of gratitude”. I journaled while filled with my feels. I was venting in a therapeutic way but while reading I could feel my teeth grinding on the other side. I was writing out my frustrations to get them out. Work had been a ghost town that week. I was deep in the dumps. I could feel the pain of the author. Deep empathy towards his worry. I knew exactly where my head was when I wrote it. If you read it you would think I was in control but I was writing to gain control of myself. Often times my writing reflects my mood of that day or an entire week. This was a week one.

I read it again and I smiled.

I smiled because this too had been a slow week as was the week before.

But

I’m more regulated and relaxed.

Im growing.

I’ve spent the last year or so reprogramming my brain and my looping behaviors.

My reactions to situations

My attitude towards situations that take me out of my comfort zone.

Deleting old parts that no longer fit me. Some focus on their physical appearance, gym time, cardio, diet. Sure I do that too I’ve been going to the gym since I was old enough to drive to one. I eat decent I can’t be a fat dude that walks around in 5in inseam shorts everywhere.

I’ve been focused on some mental marathon training. Strengthening my nervous system, reducing my anxieties, shitting on my stress.

Growth

To read an old journal entry and witness your progress first hand is a good reason to smile.

And I did

Meditation, the shit works. Shadow work, shit works.

Letting shit go

Works

I’ve spent the last year taking my hands off the steering wheel

My foot off the gas pedal.

I love that scene in Dances With Wolves where Kevin Costner, in despair with the thought of losing his leg, parades himself in front of the confederate soldiers. Closes his eyes while galloping on his horse, hands in the air, giving himself up to everything.

That’s the vibe I’m trying to give back to life.

Riding that horse. Eyes closed but with a smile.

Growth

I love witnessing it firsthand

This is my daily devotion to myself.

And it’s working

If I go through my memories I rarely go back more than 6 years because it feels like I’m reading a perspective from another person once I hit 2020. I smile sometimes and other times I wince.

“I remember that guy”

I said the same thing when I read my blog from last year -“ I remember that guy”

Growth

I’m heading to my old hood for a walk. I miss my N main walks. After my walk I’m taking my mountain bike up to Hwy 11. No camping this week but I’m going to make breakfast by a little lake up there and read on my tailgate. Maybe a nap.

Growth

Cheers