#002: Systemize.

How to implement:

This is not a big undertaking, all I am saying is that you should have a designated place for each of your things. 
- As soon as you get home, put each thing back in its respective place.
- As soon as you finish cooking, put the things away.
- When you find something that you don't have a place for yet, think to yourself 'where should this go?'
- You'll naturally develop a system of your very own and you will navigate life more effortlessly.

On Why You Should Develop a System.

​In the previous blog-post (see below) I quoted Ralph Waldo Emerson to highlight that you must allow yourself to fall off your game momentarily, so you come back stronger afterwards.

I want to push this analogy further and apply it to another facet of life: cleanliness.

We, as humans, are beings of order. We try to make sense of everything: our surroundings, our behaviors, even the meaning of our existence itself.

In order for our day-to-day life to make sense, we have to have a system, because then we have an environment where we know how to operate properly. Success is clearly defined.

I don't believe that you messy fucks were born that way and that you are happiest in a messy room. After steeping in chaos for so long, you have grown accustomed to it and accept it.

It is important to develop a system and to stick to it. If you want to make any long-term progress, then you must gain traction on a daily basis.

This is done by developing your own system for living. 

#001: 2017 is over. Thoughts:

"The voyage of the best ship is a zigzag line of a hundred tacks."
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

I want this to be a big year. It feels like one. I have to establish these rituals now. I must habitualize posting by the time the chaos ensues.

Here's to a year filled with tons of posts fueled by tons of good times.

With love, 
-your boy brett.

 On recording and sharing memories

The end of the year has me looking back into the pictures and videos that I've accumulated since last January.

Memories get painted on a timeline and we watch them disappear into the past. However, we have the technology to save memories and easily organize them.

I pushed away from this for a long time, because I saw it as 'truer' to just live the experiences, but everytime I look back at the things I've recorded, I wish I had saved more.

So this year I will be loosening my inhibitions around posting, because when you get down to it, I post for me and you post for you.

We each choose a little bit of ourselves to share with everyone else, so that they can get a feel for how we operate. And this isn't a bad thing.

However, do not air any personal business in the marketplace that you're not comfortable with sharing.

Me? I'm a relatively open book, but I still keep much to myself. 

Never lose that ability to take a mental snapshot. The picture is not the memory.

Blog Post #000

“You may never know what results come of your action, but if you do nothing there will be no result.”
-Mahatma Gandhi.

My friends and I camp at the end of the summer, but this year I asked my grandfather if we could stay at 'The Camp'.

For over 40 years, my grandfather with his brothers, friends of theirs, and the other males in family traveled the four and a half hours to stay at 'The Camp'.

It has always been a fable to me. I saw pictures of it, but never stepped foot into it and thus had no conception of what it actually entailed.

The Camp is a rustic place; it's meant for hunting. 

There is no running water at The Camp and the bathroom is an outhouse. The only neighbors are the farmers across the street.

In the first year of going to Maine, my grandfather met a man named ‘Dicky’. Dicky was a resident of the small town.

Dicky had nothing to offer except his loyalty and friendship. Many people would pass him by and even look down upon him, but not my grandfather.

He and his brothers would buy Dicky cigarettes and beer, give him rides, and always include him whenever they were there.

Dicky became a part of The Camp.

My family did what they could for Dicky, without expecting a single thing in return. They treated him as an end instead of a means. Never did they think he would end up being the helper.

But he did.


As we left home, my grandfather said to me, “Oh by the way, Dicky might stop by.” We had no idea who Dicky was and all that my grandfather offered us as a description was that he was a ‘dirt farmer’.

Which inevitably became the running joke...

The first night went by with no visitation, but we awoke the second morning to a portly man with a scruffy beard and a giant revolver holstered on his hip. They were there to mow the lawn.

Dicky or his son, Bubba, mows the lawn every two weeks. Faithfully.

He does it as an homage to the camaraderie that was experienced at that shack.

I was struck multiple times by the strength of the brotherhood that they formed. The Camp is no joke to those men.

In the wake of the tragic loss of my Uncle Joseph, an ex member of the generation between mine and my grandfather, the feelings have only grown stronger.


Now, a new generation of men are being ushered into The Camp, and the cosmos has a great sense of irony, because Dicky is our lifeline.

All week, we filled our jugs from his garden hose to drink from and to clean the dishes with. He invited all 5 of us into his home on multiple occasions to share pot and a meal with his extended family.

They opened their lives to us.

Meeting Dicky’s family was one of the most beautiful experiences of my entire life. As soon as we met, we were family.

Coming from the suburbs of Boston, it is not often that people open their home to you, or even open themselves to a conversation with you, for that matter. There is always a intermediary period of getting to know each other and everyone approaches a conversation conservatively, waiting for the other person to ask for something.

There was none of that bullshit with Dicky’s family.

They were among the best people that I have ever met and I am grateful to the highest degree to have met them.

Thank you to Dicky and Bubba.