An arc, in order

Adventures

Read these in order. The first chapter is the one that does not depend on any of the others, and every chapter after it carries a plain note about where it actually stands today.

11 chapters

  1. Two coffee cups on a worn wooden kitchen table in early morning light.

    Chapter One Non-negotiable

    The Promise

    Forty-one, clear on what comes next. Eleven chapters, and the terms I hold myself to.

    Horizon: Day one, and every day after

    In motion This one is not a plan. It is the standard I hold myself to now, alone, with nobody watching to see whether I keep it.

  2. The timber-lined interior of an empty van, rope and a crate along one wall, rear doors open onto a sunlit wooded track.

    Chapter Two

    The Van

    Built when the two of us are ready for it, not on a schedule, and kept for the next sixty years.

    Horizon: Whenever we are ready for it, and then every year after that

    Not started Not started. I have not bought a van. I have been reading builds, pricing systems, and sketching layouts for a good while, so I know what I want it to be. What it is waiting on is time and a place to keep it in pieces, not inspiration.

  3. A wildflower meadow between two stands of forest at sunrise, a narrow creek winding through it and mist hanging at the treeline.

    Chapter Three

    The Land

    Forest, meadow, water, and room for an orchard. Craftsman bones, Tudor whimsy, and a wrap-around porch.

    Horizon: Years two through five, then the rest of it

    Not started Not started, and the reason is money and timing rather than anything noble. I know what I am looking for, down to the water and the porch. Land is a large purchase, the capital has been doing other things, and the right moment has not arrived yet. I am still looking.

  4. An empty panelled room with wide plank floors, a tall mullioned window standing open and sunlight falling across the boards.

    Chapter Four Non-negotiable

    The Children

    God willing. A somewhat traditional house, and a life arranged so their mother's hours are genuinely hers to give.

    Horizon: Early, and deliberately so

    Not started Nothing to report here except the honest thing: I am forty-one, I want to be a father, and I have stopped pretending that is a someday problem.

  5. A book-lined studio room with two leather armchairs facing a camera stand, a whiteboard on an easel and daylight through a tall window.

    Chapter Five

    The Work

    Something we grow together, on camera, teaching whatever we are learning while we are still learning it.

    Horizon: Year one, and ongoing forever

    In motion In motion. I already build and publish for a living, and the investigations on this site are the ongoing version of it. What does not exist yet is the part with two people in it.

  6. An open handwritten manuscript on a desk in window light, surrounded by bound volumes, a globe, an inkwell and reading glasses.

    Chapter Six

    The Books

    Fiction and non-fiction both, written by two people whose perspectives the story actually needs.

    Horizon: Year three onward, for decades

    Started A complete first draft exists and none of it is published. The world behind it has a map, a history and a set of rules I made myself keep, built over years. The draft is unrevised, and the chapter finally says why.

  7. An open handwritten field notebook on a rock beside a creek, a hand writing in it, with a specimen jar, an inkwell and a fern frond alongside.

    Chapter Seven

    The Questions

    Real research, submitted for peer review, giving back to science whatever we are able to give.

    Horizon: Year five onward

    In motion In motion. The investigations on this site are the honest current state: careful work with sources, published in public, checkable by anyone. A first submission for peer review is in flight now. Nothing of mine has been through review yet.

  8. Two hikers with packs and poles walking a stone ridge trail at sunrise above a valley filled with cloud.

    Chapter Eight

    The Bodies

    Strong, mobile, and still climbing things at eighty. Built for flow, not for the mirror.

    Horizon: All sixty years, no off-season

    In motion A standing practice rather than a plan. Two or three sessions most weeks, with honest gaps in the bad stretches, and twenty years of that rather than any impressive block of it. The goal is being strong and mobile at eighty, so consistency is the only variable that really counts.

  9. A long wooden table at night under a low warm lamp, spread with handwritten papers, two glasses of wine, a candle and a bowl of fruit.

    Chapter Nine Non-negotiable

    The Table

    How we think, how we argue, what we refuse to let rot our minds, and the nerve to follow an answer we did not want.

    Horizon: Every night, for sixty years

    In motion In motion, and the easiest one to verify. Everything I publish on this site is me doing this in public, including the parts where I had to change my position.

  10. A dense old growth forest interior at dawn, tall straight trunks rising like columns through low mist.

    Chapter Ten Non-negotiable

    The Source

    Worship in our own way, and love that shows up as what we actually do.

    Horizon: All sixty years

    In motion A private practice with a real shape and no routine worth publishing. It runs through the working day, not in a slot cut into it. The honest gap is the congregation: I keep meaning to be in one, and Sunday keeps losing to the week.

  11. A mature fruit orchard in golden afternoon light with a laid table and chairs set out under two large trees and a swing hanging nearby.

    Chapter Eleven

    The Long Evening

    The last stretch. Who goes first, what the other one does, and what we leave standing.

    Horizon: The last twenty years, and after

    Not started Nothing to report and nothing to prove. This is the chapter I wrote to make sure I was being honest about wanting the whole thing, not just the exciting parts.