Today’s agenda:

5:15AM: Up for a video call with Eastern Europe. (Context: I’m in California.)

7AM: Commuting to work.

4PM: Leaving work.

5PM: Meeting up with the backpack cult for a 5 mile weight-carrying hike around the Golden Gate Park and beaches a bridge area.

8PM: Commuting home.

9PM: Animal Crossing until I fall asleep harvesting coconuts.

I haven’t finished the morning commute yet and already have five p0 things to do before lunch.

So it’s gonna be that kind of day, huh.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I’d give everything to be able to tell you I love you again.

I love playing soccer. I’m good at it, not professional or even college level, but still pretty good. I also enjoy watching live soccer and observing, rapt, until a crescendo when the crowd goes wild. And yet, there are few things I’d less rather endure than watching soccer on TV or streaming recordings of it.

Replace “soccer” with “classical music”, and every word of that is still true. I always feel guilty about that, but you’ll never catch me listening to Bach. I’d much rather be playing.

Sometimes recent loss means being in the middle of a meeting and your body deciding, hey, know what, this would be an excellent time to consider crying.

Ow, ow, ow. A car pulled mostly through the crosswalk before their light turned and they got stuck. I started crossing the street behind it when the owner panicked and started to back up. I reflexively whacked their trunk with my hand to make them stop. The driver rolled down their window and yelled at me for slapping their car. I resisted the urge to practice amateur, ad-hoc orthodontia.

I think I bruised my wrist, though. Ow. Ow. Ow.

I am disappointed that we still have to have this conversation in 2026, but apparently we do. Listen and heed:

When you get off an escalator, get the hell out of the way.

I don’t want to have to say this again.

Happy birthday, Mom. This is the first time I haven’t been able to tell you that. 💔

I’m standing in the office kitchen, slowly munching a snack donut and watching traffic. A big delivery truck stops in front of me for a red light. The driver, bored, looks around. He sees me see him. I nod and wave my donut. He laughs and waves. I smile and wave back. He gives me a thumbs up, then drives off.

I love those little moments when you can briefly connect with a perfect stranger and have a fleeting instant of shared humanity.

The scariest people I know are also the kindest and most generous. They don’t have anything to prove or anyone to impress. Their self confidence lets them be open and inviting.

If you find yourself talking to a friendly, outgoing person at a biker bar or security conference, don’t mess with them.