77 Days to Ultraman Mexico

August 1, 2025 – 77 Days to Ultraman Mexico

The first day of a new month always carries a sense of liberation. I meditated, stretched, chipped away at wedding photos, met with Zach—and most importantly, I finally sat down to tackle the lingering tasks that have been weighing me down. The background clutter I’m so skilled at stacking.

It’s always the things that would move me forward that I avoid. Rarely do I put off something inconsequential. Today, though, with a fresh month on the board, I acted. And it felt like a release.

I’ve noticed this pattern: weeks, months, quarters—those transitions open something in me. They make change feel possible. Strangely, the New Year does not. The timespan feels too long, too crowded with everyone else chasing their own resolutions. The collective momentum makes me want to walk the other way. I’ve never loved crowds. I don’t get the same anxiety I once did, but when I find myself swallowed in numbers, I drift. I become cold, distant. Survival takes over, like an underwater cave diver hunting for the smallest pocket of air, the thinnest escape.

Writing is its own crowd sometimes. I’m in near-constant judgment of myself as I put words down. But there are moments—rare, but precious—when the words arrive before I’m even aware of them. Each one a surprise. That flow feels like sitting beside a waterfall, listening closely, shifting attention between the sounds of countless paths of water colliding and recycling. Each splash a note in an endless, soothing score.

A waterfall cleanses me. It fills me with something I didn’t know I was missing, yet never overwhelms. I become a cavern, endlessly replenished, water moving through unseen chambers, back into the aquifer. In those moments I feel part of a larger system, welcome but not needed. The cycle carries on with or without me. That’s its grace: no fanfare, no disruption, no permission required. I can step into it and out of it as I please, and the whole reconfigures, effortlessly harmonious.

Nature is the master conductor.

I hope I can write like that—without judgment, without pressure to achieve or posture. I don’t want to sound supercilious or verbose (though what a verbose way to say that). I want the words to come as the water does: unforced, unfiltered, each arrangement complete in itself. No better, no worse. Simply enough by existing.