Author Archives: Tim

About Tim

I'm a skier, a climber, and an agrarian. I enjoy the simple pleasures of life, and sharing them with my wonderful partner Liz.

Bursting the Bubble

You’re going to need a tool. Something sharp, something you trust, something you believe in. This could be an object, but it should be something you’ve known for a while, something handmade, maybe even passed down. It could be a concept, but it can’t be an idea, it’s got to be a belief, something you’ve learned, tried, experienced, applied. Something you know is real and true.

You’re going to want to get comfortable, you need to get as close to the bubble as you can. You can be sitting or standing, even lying down, but just know it’s going to take a little time, so you don’t want to cramp up or sneeze or move too quickly. Find the edge of the bubble and get so close to it you can smell it’s slightly burning, chemical odor. It’s not easy to find the edge of the bubble, a lot of times it’s hidden or built right into your surroundings. The trick is to create, it doesn’t matter what or how, just that you make something new, that you feel the spark, bring something to life in your mind and then in the world. This is how you come to see the edges of the bubble, the one you’ve been living in, the ones trapping others.

Get as close as you can, but be careful of your breath or bushing the side of the bubble, we want to break it, but if we go too quick it won’t have the desired effect. It’s fragile and illusive, we want to go slow so we can see it stretch and bend, so we can see how it’s formed so we can recognize other, thinner bubbles in the future, so we can warn people of their own and avoid making our own again. Take your tool, your weapon, and wet it’s sharp end in your mouth, this will allow it to penetrate the bubble before breaking it. Hold it right up to your eye and gently touch your weapon to it’s surface, ever so lightly. Watch the surface of the bubble take in the weapon and see how part of it is passed through the other side. See how easy it is to penetrate but how difficult to know when you’re through, how the thin film encompasses any shape if you match it’s texture.

Gently push and pull on your tool and see the surrounding film bulge and flex, how the reflections are distorted, this is how we see the illusion of reality the bubble offers. Slowly spin your object and see the surrounding film pulled with the force of your centrifuge.

Soak this in, look closely and learn as much as you can, for when the bubble pops it is gone in an instant, and you’re left to your memory to recreate it. Push gently until the edge of the bubble approaches the dry area of your weapon, go very slowly now.

Keep your eyes open. Really this is impossible, because the breaking of the bubble, no matter how slow or prepared, is always enexpected and somehow terrifying. Push the weapon through so slowly you can’t even tell if it’s moving, watch as closely as you can.

There it was, the snap, did it tear like a balloon? It splashed you in a mocking way. You can feel it on your face and hand, like it’s tried to shrink wrap you but you feel more like you’ve been born. Look around, you’re free, open, you’re out. Take a moment to remember the bubble, what it looked like from within, it’s color and smell, that special sheen because, again, you want to recognize when you might pass through the bubbles of others, of our own. Welcome to life outside the bubble, things will be different but you’ll quickly learn to adapt, find your footing, and create in new ways.

Keep your eyes open for new bubbles and especially those of others, of stepping inside and seeing what they see, of feeling what they feel. So many of us are trapped in bubbles, we can’t see and need help getting out. But this is harder yet, not because it’s any different but because the tools are often hidden or difficult to make, but that’s exactly what you’ve got to do. Think hard and see the right tool before it exists, focus your mind, imagine it in your hand, slowly pearcing the thin film… Now get to work.

Postcards from Punakaiki 

A postcard is a small picture with a letter on the back. Short, about a place, personal, but not hidden. My postcards are a little longer, I tend to ramble, I use my own pictures, and they’re usually a little sad cause I’m feeling lonely or lost.

These are my Postcards from Punakaiki

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Things are missing. We lose them or leave them behind. People, places, objects. We become absent, from others, from ourselves.

Here I am again. Finding this space like encountering an old empty house and opening the door to find… emptiness. The windows are all broken, a light breeze floats through, paint is peeling and no one’s been here for a while. What was I expecting? I’ve been gone. 

I will have to rebuild things, again. Clean house, fix the windows, build a desk, a place to work. 

Not only have I been absent, but somehow it seems like the absence started from within me. I haven’t been writing, which, in some ways, feels like I haven’t been thinking. 

I’ve felt it occasionally, trying to edge back into my life, the spark of an idea like a hot ball of electricity right at the top of my spine. But I’m not here, not ready to receive it, and it cools, subsides, dissolves, and I’m left to hope that it somehow collects inside of me so I can find it later. 

Where have I been? Nowhere special. Present mostly. Just soaking it in, chasing the easy highs, a little wind in the face, an open summit, music. 

Here I am again. Ready? Willing. Because I know it is my responsibility to be here, to do work, to not wait for the inspiration, to not rely upon it. So I rebuild, like tearing apart my childhood room, moving the bed and the dresser and finding a new poster and feeling reborn. A fresh space, or at the least a fresh perspective. 

Because it’s kind of like waking up, returning from the absence. I get to rediscover, reinvent. I forgot some things, which is good, learning is good but forgetting is important too. 

I think that’s it. For whatever reason it needs to be said, established, that I’m “back”. Reclaiming this space and trying, like my childhood self, to make it reflect me a little better. This time my bed will face this way, my books can go here, and I’ve got a big, thick, wooden table for my new projects. 

It already feels better here, feels good to be back. The guilt from my absence abating. Perhaps that’s it, why I need to declare, to make peace with my absence, to cut down all the expectations and apprehensions that took hold while I was gone, to make a start, and prove to myself that it doesn’t need to be perfect, or beautiful, or have a meaning, or an end. 

The Evolution of an Approach.

I’m home. Or as close to it as I can really get. What is home for anyone really – where you live? Where you are alive? Too many cliches about your heart or your hat… For the past week I’ve been with family and more than anywhere else, this feels like home. It’s not the place, the place is familiar in that visceral and sometimes oppressive way that where you grow up can be. No, home is family, it’s that bedrock of strength and support that is unwavering, that without, you become truly homeless. It’s the place you call or scamper to when you’re in trouble, it’s the people you call on when you need help, or return to when they need you.

Home is where you go to reconnect with the person you were, the one who helped make you who you are today. It’s been a little over a year since I’ve been here, that’s about my rotation, and with all the movement and change my life has seen in the past year, coming home is in so many ways just what I needed. A chance to check in with myself, my history, my present and future, to offer support and presence, to gather ideas and encouragement for the way forward. A lot has changed in the practical and emotional ways I live and experience life this last year, and taking a moment to better understand and appreciate what is happening has helped me take advantage of this momentum to keep my life moving in what I hope to be a positive direction. Is it? Well, only time will tell, but you may as well judge too. The approach is changing. Continue reading

Behind The Scenes.

How many times have I thought about this place, considered its purpose, its import to me, and to you. How many sentences I’ve started, how many topics touched on. How many more have I thought of, rolled around in my mind only to let them dissipate like a clearing fog. There are so many things I want to share, but my temperament and aptitude prohibit me from offering anything less than what I deem perfect, despite the fact that when I finally do, it is. This is a journal, yet one that has been cultivated, curated, and curtailed to fit an ideal, or at least to be pushed in a direction. Yet it is still just a journal, and my beliefs, my ideals and values bleed into every word published. It is my journal.

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More Perspectives…

Looking back.

Sometimes perspective is so hard to find. We can try and pry ourselves away, to get a better view and see something new, but the world has a way of hiding clarity. This makes it precious really, and when it’s found we can so easily feel the understanding pulsing through our bodies.

I want to understand it all, nothing in particular really. I want to change my perspective of the world around me so it all clicks, so I can see it more clearly. Sometimes so much seems so unknown, so hectic, chaotic, and lost. What is the purpose? Other times you think you know exactly where you are, only to become aware you’ve been decieved, or decieving youself…

So instead I just go. One foot in front of the other, one step at a time and see where it takes me. I follow what feels good or right and try to do my best, to be my best…

And I look back often, to see where I have come. To see where I have been. Because sometime’s I’ve gone nowhere, or I’ve been stuck, and looking back can so easily break you free, give you that precious perspective for your place, your purpose, your person.  Continue reading


It’s kind of like a sickness, I think. An addiction maybe. I get to the top of a ridge so I can see over the other side. But as soon as I make it, I’m pulled to the next ridge, the next horizon. 

Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I just kept going, how far I would make it. It’s kind of like the feeling you get standing at the edge of a cliff, like maybe I can fly. It’s a little scary, but exhilarating. Something is pulling you, telling you to take the next step. 

I wonder if I just keep going, to the next ridge, the next mountain, maybe I’d never stop? Like time would cease and my body would merge with the infinite. It’s like that, kind of scary, kind of exhilarating, the unknown, the possibilities, pulling you into their embrace. But like jumping off the cliff, somehow self preservation is always whispering in your ear, a reminder, and I know I’d just end up dead. Spent and exhausted, exposed and cold somewhere in the wilderness completely unprepared for how deep I’d gotten myself. I wouldn’t make it back for work, darkness would descend and the feeling of magic and boundless possibility would be replaced with one of foolish dread. Stupid and scared.   

I know this, but somehow I still don’t completely believe it. So I look away, or back at where I’ve come, or where I’m going. Anywhere but into the unknown, because it’s pulling me to0 hard.

Someday I’ll just keep walking, over every ridge and every horizon I can see. I’ll never stop and walk into a whole new world. Someday, but not today.