Low Touch Parenting

A coworker posted a link to this article on Facebook, which I found pretty interesting:

Low Touch Parenting

As a parent, I often feel inundated with guilt – about exactly how precious my children’s lives are, about what they’re supposed to be doing, what they’re supposed to be able to do, how they should dress, what I should feel, what they should say – everything. And I don’t even get the worst of it – I’m not a person who is necessarily prone to feeling guilty about this sort of thing, and it’s not targeted at me that often.  I feel worse for my wife, and all moms, who deal with a far more powerful onslaught of guilt, judgement, and armchair quarterbacking about who they ought to be, and what their relationship with their kids should be.  I’m consistently amazed at both how powerful “Mom guilt” is, and also how prevalent the ideas and forces that cause it are.

So this article resonates with me.  I love my kids very much.  I want the best for them – both now, in their little tiny lives, and in the future, as they grow up to be adults and maybe have children of their own.  And when I think about what that really means – what “the best for them” is, the best I can come up with is this:

The most important thing I think I can give my kids is permission to live their lives as fully as possible, and the best way I can think to do that is to lead by example.

As if to really accentuate the point, I’m finding it incredibly difficult not to clarify that further – to reassure you of all the things I do, or try to do, to make sure they’re perfect.  But that’s the problem – wanting, needing to show the world just how committed we are to our kids.  So I won’t.  I love them, I want what’s best for them, and that’s what matters.

Cinder Cone

Cinder Cone is one of my favorite films on Vimeo, and I find myself coming back to it pretty often.  It’s hard to identify specifically what draws me to it so strongly, but it gets me every time – the music, the camera work, the general vibe, the fact that the project work is defined by seasons – it’s all just so good.

If I had to choose one moment though, it’s this one:

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It’s so good, because the moment is so relatable.  He’s so excited about this treehouse (and who could blame him?  The location, the design, everything about it is amazing), he’s going to sleep in it before it’s done.  At first, it just seems like a funny little shot, and maybe that’s all it was intended to be – but it’s so good.  Life should be full of experiences in which you’re so excited about it (whatever it might be) coming together, you’re so excited about the outcome,  that you want to sleep in an unfinished treehouse.  Or you know, whatever the equivalent to “sleep in an unfinished treehouse” is for the thing you’re doing.

Or maybe I actually just want to spend every night in an unfinished treehouse.


I just want us all to imagine how this day went:

It’s a Tuesday.

You wake up in the morning.  You’re in Alaska.  You’re a pro skier, but it’s summer time, so you’re doing whatever pro skiers do in the summer (Not sure what that is?  Buckle up.).

You get up, have some breakfast, give some thought to what you might do today.  Soon enough, you round up the crew, and head out to your plane.  Because you also have a pilot’s license, and a plane, I guess.  Why wouldn’t you?

So you take off, in your plane.  Where are you going?  Literally wherever you want.  Today, “wherever you want” seems to be up a river somewhere.  Why a river?  Because it’s beautiful, and while you’re there, you want to skim your wheels on it.  And, having done this before, and everyone having agreed that this is possibly the coolest thing that anyone has ever done, and they’re going to go ahead and follow you in a helicopter while you do it, to get it on film.

And then while the wheels are on the water, you accidentally hit the smoke briefly.  Because the smoke button is right next to the stick.  Or steering wheel. I don’t know, I’ve never flown a plane.

It’s a Tuesday.



Author’s note: I actually have no idea what day of the week this was filmed on. I’m sorry.

When We Were Knights

You either live a genuine life that’s true to who you are, or you don’t.

✔️ Wingsuit POV footage
✔️ Spectacular landscape photography
✔️ Quotable dialog
✔️ Atmospheric soundtrack
✔️ Hijinks
✔️ Tearjerking story that makes you want to get out and live

There’s really no reality, no scenario where I don’t love this film.  I’ve probably watched it 10 times. I’ll probably watch it 10 more.

The more surely the future is known, the less surprise and the less fun in living it

When the outcome of a game is certain, we call it quits and begin another. This is why many people object to having their fortunes told: not that fortunetelling is mere superstition or that the predictions would be horrible, but simply that the more surely the future is known, the less surprise and the less fun in living it.

Watts, Alan W.The Book: On the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are

This book, (and maybe Alan Watts in general), is completely nuts.  Way out there, much further gone than I can really stomach very easily.  I’m not sure I can finish it.  Even so, it’s sprinkled with all these little nuggets which, when removed from the greater context that he’s providing them in, are pretty great.

The Shooter and the Farmer

When the members of the Frontiers of Science discussed physics, they often used the abbreviation “SF.” They didn’t mean “science fiction,” but the two words “shooter” and “farmer.” This was a reference to two hypotheses, both involving the fundamental nature of the laws of the universe.

In the shooter hypothesis, a good marksman shoots at a target, creating a hole every ten centimeters. Now suppose the surface of the target is inhabited by intelligent, two-dimensional creatures. Their scientists, after observing the universe, discover a great law: “There exists a hole in the universe every ten centimeters.” They have mistaken the result of the marksman’s momentary whim for an unalterable law of the universe.

The farmer hypothesis, on the other hand, has the flavor of a horror story: Every morning on a turkey farm, the farmer comes to feed the turkeys. A scientist turkey, having observed this pattern to hold without change for almost a year, makes the following discovery: “Every morning at eleven, food arrives.” On the morning of Thanksgiving, the scientist announces this law to the other turkeys. But that morning at eleven, food doesn’t arrive; instead, the farmer comes and kills the entire flock.

Liu, Cixin | The Three-Body Problem (Remembrance of Earth’s Past)

I enjoyed this book quite a bit, but this was by far the most interesting proposition to me.

What do we really know?  What can we really know?