This morning the wind chimes were a-chiming’ as I stepped out to capture some photons for free.

This is today’s diary entry to the world.

Hello, reader! Each day I pause and think for a moment before I start my one-page writing exercise for the day (in other words, the very thing you are reading now). I’m not great at planning a thing start to finish; I’m the jump off a cliff and assemble your wings on the way down kind of guy. I guess that means I need a little direction, then rely on controlled chaos to take the wheel from there. If these writings ever take on kind of a “free wheelin’” nature, that would be why. At a certain point during the process it becomes an almost automatic writing; I don’t know more than a few words in advance what I’m about to write. It just sort of comes to me. It would be fair to call these my stream-of-consciousness ramblings. It’s almost like I’m letting you peek over my shoulder as I slow down and narrate my inner thought process. If you were hearing this instead of reading it, it would sound like that voice inside my head.

Where that inner voice comes from, and whose it is, really is one of those metaphysical questions that has confounded me since an early age. I know that it’s there, but when I try to focus in and really listen, I can’t seem to hear it. If not for the external validation of many other people experiencing the very same thing, I might almost think it a product of my overactive imagination. Some say that that “I am” at the center is the same within all of us. That divine, animating spirit of the infinite. I don’t know for sure, but it’s a nice concept to think about.

I’m writing this today using one of the fancier pencils favored among pencil enthusiasts (which, I’ve recently discovered, do very much exist). It’s called a Blackwing Pearl. In an earlier age, I might have scoffed at the idea of paying multiple dollars per individual pencil. But now that they are my writing instrument of choice, I’m really looking for the quality stuff. And man, are these things premium.

I’ll spare you the boring pencil nerd talk. The more interesting story is how I got it. Amber and I were sitting outside, looking up at the stars last night. Writing has been on my mind a lot lately, so I almost mentioned that I’d discovered Blackwing Pencils, but thought it too niche a topic—so I let it go. Later that night, we were inside when she suddenly handed me a pencil. It had a glossy, white pearlescent finish and a white rectangular eraser. My intuition told me, correctly, that this was a Blackwing pencil. I told her I’d almost mentioned them earlier in the night and she said when she’d heard me talking about pencils earlier in the week, she’d remembered this one. As it turns out, I’d actually purchased it for my son some years ago. Pencils, naturally, being interchangeable as anything else to a young child, were at the margins of his awareness. He’d be just as happy using one of those crappy cheap ones—you know the ones, made of over-processed wood which snap like a twig if you sneeze at them too hard. And I, Super Dad, accept my fancy pencil as my reward for a job well done. Maybe I’ll even write him a story with it. Take care. 💌

— Jared Caraway​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

I can’t just talk about my wonderful new pencil friend and not introduce her. This is Pearl. (Yeah, I’m anthropomorphizing writing implements. Sue me.)