Today is the two hundredth and seventy-fourth day of the year— that means five or take I’ve written about two hundred and fifty stories. I’m allocating twenty-five odd days for travel, exhaustion, life, and relocation.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned in the past 274 days is that consistent effort is king. It doesn’t have to be big and flashy. Just like when you’re running, you don’t need to complete a marathon every day. But just getting the shoes on and out of the front door is enough.

I’m in the middle of about five different books right now. That’s unusual for me. Typically, I zoom through one book at a time in an almost binge-like fashion. But right now jumping between science fiction, poetry, memoir, and other random passing fancies.

Before I started writing this I was sitting on my balcony in my floor chair drinking a beverage that calls itself “beer-like” (always a sign of quality) and smoking a single blueberry menthol cigarette. I started the day early as I tend to do now – it’s rare for me not to wake up by six a.m. I make my coffee and eat breakfast today before calling one of my friends who are halfway across the world.

I thought about how the future has become a vast expanse before me as I’m now operating from a point of unknown. Maybe this was always the case, and the wool over my eyes was my preconceived notions— but now, I’m at the edge of something vastly different than I ever expected. Even if I had nebulously planned it.

The upside of living on an island that is so vibrant with natural splendor is that if you a combination of humbled and awed as you stare at the curling mountain ranges and schools of fish.

You feel the edge of mystical wonder as you stand in the old cedar forest before abandoned shrines. You feel the creep of magic as it moves like tendrils of ivy in the gaps that the winnowing population leaves behind. The island is filled with abandoned buildings— homes, industrial sites, schools, old shipyards. But the children still screech with joy as they run around— the parents still laugh. Friends still find time to see each other. Life is robust— even as the density of humanity lessens. It is no less potent at two hundred than it is at two thousand.

I’m learning the lesson that I’ve always known I would need. Patience is hard for everyone – particularly now when we live in an economy of attention. But I’ve always known that if I were able to slow down— that many of the things that scare me or that I don’t understand would reveal themselves to be little more than shadows cast from corners of the room.

I’ve lived with an ingrained fear borne out of the misguided understanding that finding your partner, soulmate, etc is the zenith of our achievement in this life. I have feared that if I’m not on high alert— if I’m not on a constant lookout, I would miss them.

I would miss the thing that’s supposed to complete me.

I know that’s a very flawed approach to life— but one that is relatively common from the 1700s onward with the rise of romanticism. It’s also one that’s hard to find the fibrous root without directed digging.

I’ve been on this island— face to face with myself. I’m living a version of a childhood dream and I’m having to ask myself what other parts are worth looking at. What other dreams are worth pursuing?

I sit and flex my toes as the wind shakes my dress T-shirt on the clothing line and I wonder “what does a content life look like when it’s only myself?”

I know enough now to know that I’m passably content for the moment. That part of the reason I was so enthused about coming to this island was the solitude I would gain— the patience I would have to cultivate without my friends to lean on in person.

I’m also grateful for the utter lack of dating possibilities on this island. It’s a combination of limited language exchange and nuanced ideas that would lead to a relationship that would be elementary in emotional engagement. It’s hard to have a sweeping love or understanding of someone when the questions you ask are at the level of “do you like apples?“

To return to the basis of today’s entry— it is the 274th day of the year, and while I am far from my understanding of what exactly the impact of this time will be – I know it will be far greater than anything I could have ever expected. In the stories that I have written and will write during that will serve as a platform for some yet unknown enterprise.