Since we’re just about to the finish line of the MAP Year Project, I’m going to level with you.

This morning, I’m sitting across from my therapist, which is to say I’m sitting in front of a webcam. I scooched my chair forward only to decide that, actually, I wanted to lean back again. I’m tired because I haven’t been sleeping well and my thoughts feel sludgy. Thick, yet somehow wispy at the same time. And slow; they feel dull and slow.

I like my therapist.

She’s looking at me with what seem to be amused eyes. Probably, because she’s letting the silence build and she’s using it to force me through the muck of my fuzzy-brained morning. We’re chatting about how I feel particularly irked when there’s a mismatch between what someone says and what they do. She’s nodding. “I hate that,” I tell her, and she grins.

Once I discover a mismatch like that, I can’t unsee it and I struggle to let it be. Which has, time and again, proven rather problematic when it’s not my mismatch to solve, and when the person whose mismatch it is has no desire to rectify it themselves.

“Sometimes” I tell her, “people avoid me because of it.”

That’s when she looks up from the notes she’s taking. Her jaw lowers and her eyebrows raise. So, now I know I’ve stepped in it. She doesn’t even have to say anything—that damn silence does it for her. I scooch my chair forward again and fold my hands together. Glancing up at the screen, I sigh and say “Ok touché... that’s the story I’m telling myself... and I don’t know if it’s true.”

But I don’t know that it’s not true, either.

I’ve long felt that my need to correctly label “causes” and “effects” can be cumbersome for folks. And I get it; we don’t need to spend every waking moment of our lives dissecting the behavior patterns of ourselves and others. I go on to say how, sometimes, it feels like I’m “too much” in this regard. And that other people seem like they can put these “mismatches” down and forget about them altogether, if they so choose. But me? I can’t.

Not easily, anyway.

Not yet.

From there, we get to talking about comparison and whether or not that’s helpful here, or anywhere really. My therapist offers a gentle reminder that the ABCDE model of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) is helpful for challenging disruptive thoughts, but that it’s not a filter that everything needs to run through. She pauses. Then, she says that sometimes it can be effective to set aside a time for it—to live your life and then reflect back on your day for a few minutes.

“You can even write it down,” she says. “A lot of people find that helpful.”

Now it’s my turn to smile.

“Actually, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.”

***

Thanks for being here and being part of the MAP Year Project.

I wanted to see what would happen if I shared my own style of rethinking how I move through the world instead of telling people how they should go about it. Maybe you’d picture yourself somewhere in these stories and start wondering about different bits and pieces of your own life.

So...

If you like my writing, you just might like Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, too. Because if you’ve been reading throughout this project, you’ve unknowingly been watching me demonstrate the ABCDE model.

But I’ve never told you that’s what’s been happening here.

Look familiar?

A – Activating Event: The situation or trigger.

B – Beliefs: The thoughts and/or assumptions you form about the event.

C – Consequence: Any “ruffled feathers” that follow (resulting emotions or behaviors).

D – Dispute: Challenge and question the beliefs that ruffled your feathers.

E – Effect: Any new thoughts that emerge in contrast with your original beliefs.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
353/365

Do you ever use the ABCDE model—knowingly or unknowingly—in your own life?

onward.

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“Did you poop?” is not a question I expected to hear today.

In fact, it’s not really a question I expect on any day.

But I’m not a parent.

So, while sitting in a cafe today, I was rather caught off guard when that question floated through the air. I looked up from my table by the window. Trying to seem casual, I reached up and pulled one side of my headphones off while keeping my eyes on my laptop. I’d been super entrenched in what I was working on, but now the lines of code are all blurred together because I’m not paying any attention to them whatsoever.

Across the room, a woman stood by the trash and recycling with a tote bag slung over her shoulder. She was leaning to one side to compensate for the weight of it. I followed her gaze and saw the toddler looking up at her.

I’m not sure if that’s a daughter and her mom or a nanny, but I know they’d been sitting at the table in front of mine. And, after connecting those dots, it dawns on me that the woman just asked this girl if she pooped.

“Yethp”

Daww the confidence!

Now I’m smiling. But I’m trying not to let on that I’m onto them. I mean, they’re not being covert or anything—I’m actually quite impressed with how normal this back-and-forth feels.

“Do you want to go to the bathroom?”

“... uh huh... YA!”

So the woman and the girl depart, and I’m sitting at the table thinking about one very specific time from when I was a wilderness guide. While on trips we’d do this thing called “Doctor’s In” where I’d chat with folks one-on-one about how they were doing. Any blisters? Drinking enough water? Any nerves or mental fatigue worth talking about? And, yes—have you pooped? So now I’m thinking of the time during a trip near Yellowstone with a group of teenagers when someone had lied to me about their “ins and outs.”

That’s something I only discovered after we reached the point of having to medically evacuate them. I ended up having to escort this person out of the backcountry and then drive many, many hours to the emergency room. That’s when the doctors had to give them an enema.

Shaking my head, my eyes find their way back to my laptop screen.

That little girl didn’t lie when asked, and for that, the woman definitely gets some kudos. I wish I’d known how to create a safe enough space on that Yellowstone trip for that person to be honest with me.

Shit happens, I guess.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
352/365

When's the last time you felt scared to tell someone the truth? Why?

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It’s late and I should really go to bed but I can’t put this book down.

Isobel’s asleep next to me, so I’m propped up toward the lamp on my nightstand. I’m lying on my side, cradling East of Eden in one hand. At least, until I finish the page. Then I have to hold it with the other one.

I haven’t even made it far into the story yet. It took a couple chapters before I found the rhythm of John Steinbeck’s writing. Now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t know that I’ve read anything of his since we covered Of Mice and Men in high school. Sure, some of the language is different. Some of the social norms have aged quite repugnantly, too. In that case, yes; the differences between then and now are glaring.

BUT.

East of Eden was originally published in 1952. As I’m laying there ignoring the clock, focused on reading and hoping the still-lit lamp doesn’t wake Isobel up, I can feel my eyes bulging and my jaw slackening.

There, right there on the page:

• Gender norms.

• Financial stress.

• Unrequited love.

• Social conditioning.

• Familial expectations.

• War and fear mongering.

1952!!

That’s a ton of the same shit we’re dealing with today. It’s all just got different clothes on. But underneath? My god—humans are humans no matter what, huh?

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
351/365

Has anything from another time period made you realize how unshakably human we are? What was it?

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I recently read a Note on Substack from where she admitted the rise in AI is making her less interested in finding new writers. And, to be clear, that’s less interested in “finding” them; not “having found them.”

I had to think about that.

I reread her Note a few times and then I left a comment asking whether she feels like non-AI voices stand out more now when stumbling upon them. In a matter of minutes she answered, “yes absolutely.”

Huh.

I’m not entirely surprised by that, but I’m also seeing lots of folks who can’t tell the difference between AI writing and non-AI writing, or who think they can but actually can’t. It’s often the latter. Researchers found that most people actually can’t tell nearly as well as they think they can.

Other commenters replied to weigh in.

Perhaps it’s a shared bias of those who subscribe to Linda, but most folks replying to the Note were of a similar sentiment: that feeling bamboozled by AI is an instant turnoff. But that’s exactly what I’m finding so interesting as this conversation unfolds. The shared disdain for “AI slop” seems to be far less about the words it uses and far more about feeling like we have to decipher “whodunnit?” At least, that’s how I feel. And that sort of begrudging constant-vigilance is what I’m gleaning from Linda’s Note, too. So now I’m sitting at my desk, mulling all of this over, while leaning back in my chair.

If more and more people are feeling jaded by the rise in AI popping up in their feeds acting like humans, our quagmire is actually with trust. Or, uh... well, distrust.

Glancing out the window, I’m spinning the ring on my left hand with my thumb and index finger. My wrists are propped along the edge of the desk. Someone replied to my comment thread to point out that, as of now, the suspicion seems much higher in the realm of non-fiction compared to the narrative strength of fiction. They cited the presence of a writer’s personality as a way to tell, and I initially agreed. I still do but, now that I’m thinking this over, I actually wonder if it’s more about... values.

My eyes flit back to the laptop screen on my desk. The more this all swirls around in my head, the more certain I’m feeling that displaying how we think has become the entry point to our work. Whereas, the work itself used to be what created credibility. That was the trust-builder. Now, perhaps, it isn’t AI that’s sowing such distrust, en masse... maybe it’s those among us trying to pass off AI-generated stuff as their own. But why? To manufacture credibility?

The trees rustle their agreement beyond the window.

As I’m sitting here in my office, watching real people collectively bemoan having to interrogate every single thing they come across as real or fake, I can’t help but notice something...

For everyone who shrugs off AI as just another tool, absolutely no one wants to get caught using it for writing.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
350/365

Do you know folks who try to pass off AI generated prose as their own?

Do you know why?

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“Hey, you look like you could live here.”

I’ve been trying to ignore the table next to me, but only half-heartedly.

They’re at a 6-top that seem to sprout new chairs—and people—by the minute. The latest addition to the squad is a woman in maybe her forties or fifties. She’s got a ballcap on her head in one of those muted pastel colors and I’m betting there’s an embroidered “Vermont est. 1791” or something similar, like you’d find at a gift shop. In fact, there’s a decent chance she just bought it right here, at this place. So uh, I mean... not quite like someone who lives here... But there’s also a pair of sunglasses sitting on the brim, so I can’t be sure. Maybe I’m wrong. Besides, I’m trying to ignore that table anyway.

I’m somewhat used to being surrounded by tourists.

The matriarch’s been complaining since they arrived. Everyone else placed their orders at the counter but she plopped down here, near me. And she’s been talking with the only other girl at the table about how someone will have to go meet so-and-so since they’re just getting in, and why should that be everyone else’s problem, anyway?? The rest of the group planned accordingly; when will what’s-her-face learn? She should know better by now, so says the matriarch.

They must be in town for a wedding.

Although, they said something about “last time”...

OH! Maybe they’re visiting family who live around here?

Matriarch’s got an accent to go with her scowl, and I’m betting New Jersey. I just can’t tell whether she’s an aunt, grandmother, cousin or none of the above.

“They have Vermont Flannel Company stuff upstairs!”

Ohmygodholyshit.

I’m about to shut my laptop and get my things together to leave, but I catch myself and take a deep breath. I’ve been watching John John Florence’s new video and it’s giving me the travel itch. He’s one of the best surfers in the world but stopped competing so he could just sail around and go surfing. He and his wife have been living on the boat with their baby for just over a year at this point.

I shake my head and reach for my coffee.

I’m sitting in the corner of this cafe in Vermont, nestled right next to a flowing stream and a bunch of lush greenery, and I feel a little silly. I’m not sure if living on a sailboat and bopping around the world like that is my dream, but John John’s living a version of it. Mine would need to have access to snowboarding and trailrunning. Heck, maybe van-life’s been my calling this whole time. Or, at least, maybe it’s time I build out the back of my truck into the camper-rig it was supposed to become when I bought it.

Either way, I’m having my normal coffee in a place people go out of their way to visit. I spare a glance at the matriarch and her merry band of tourists. She seems less grumpy despite how she’s pawing at her phone with those deep red acrylic nails.

So I tell myself I hope they enjoy their wedding, or reunion, or whatever; and I turn back to my laptop and tap the space bar. The video’s just shy of eight-minutes-long, but it captures a beautiful chapter of John John and fam’s journey somewhere south of Cuba.

Taking another sip of coffee, I resume my daydreams of being... a tourist.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
349/365

Ever catch yourself being a hypocrite? Sucks, right?

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I’m walking up to the counter. Where there are usually two menus in front of the register—one for food and one for drinks—I can already see there’s just one today.

Shit.

I’d been really counting on getting a breakfast sandwich. I mapped the whole thing out in my head before I left the house... this is an unwelcome curveball.

I’m at one of the coffee places I like. It’s got exposed brick walls and high ceilings, and there’s always a collection of local art throughout the hallway. Thankfully it’s not crowded.

“Are you still doing food?”

The barista behind the counter had been smiling with their whole face when they greeted me, but their eyes stopped after I asked my question. The corners of their mouth drooped slightly, too.

“Uh—”

They looked over their shoulder.

“Ok, so... here’s the thing”

She went on to tell me how they were out of a lot of stuff. Like, almost everything. Bummer. I’m listening but I’m also calculating. I know I have to be back soon for my next call. The closest cafe stopped serving breakfast already. I could get lunch, but I just really want a breakfast sandwich. I guess I could head to a different spot closer to downtown but... well, their breakfast sandwiches just aren’t as good.

“BUTTT” I hear the barista say. “If you want a breakfast sandwich” she started to say.

YES... go on...

“I can do that for you. It’ll be the last one”

I looked up, sure that my eyes were the ones smiling now.

Thank you, universe.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
348/365

Are you someone for whom things tend to work out? Are you sure?

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The first drops are light and I’m close enough that I could still go back.

I’m on my way to meet Isobel for coffee. Walking down my street, I catch a whiff of that pre-rain smell mixed in with the flowers along the neighborhood gardens. It starts to drizzle and I slow down but don’t stop. Maybe I should go get my umbrella? Shockingly, I didn’t even bring a rain jacket. I’m usually the over-prepared type who has an extra layer in his bag even when he’s hiking to a coffee shop instead of up a mountain. Not today.

It’s cool enough that I’m wearing pants but warm enough that I’m wearing short sleeves. My backpack is waterproof, so I don’t have to worry about my laptop or the growing collection of books and notebooks in there.

This isn’t a far walk so, worst case, I get a little wet.

No sooner had my reasoning given way to acceptance did it start raining for real.

As I’m walking, I’m thinking about how differently I move through the world in my daily life now than, say, when I’m traveling or back when I used to guide trips in the backcountry. Any other day, I’d have gone back for the umbrella. I don’t know why today I didn’t. While rounding the corner toward where I’m meeting Isobel, I lose the tree cover that had been dampening the rainfall. I knew that was coming, and smile as I walk straight into the wall of rain.

Ironically, I couldn’t have cared less about that when I was out in the mountains for multiple weeks with few clothing options and no indoors to escape the elements. Now I’m about to be inside in a few minutes, down the street from where I live and where I can change into dry clothes in a bit.

I mean...

wut.

And yet— I’m not on my phone. I’m not listening to anything, either; aside from the rain and the cars and the light spray from their tires on the way by.

I’m a little wet.

But I’m not bothered by it in the slightest.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
347/365

When you hesitate, do you push back or give in?

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I didn’t want to do it, but I had to put Buckeye down.

The book came highly recommended and, while I’ll likely return to it down the road, I just couldn’t get into it right now. I really tried. I gave it the one-hundred-pages necessary to gather its “persuade me” pitch. It just didn’t... sell it. Not for the vibe I’m in at the moment, I suppose.

There’s a scene from the TV show Full House where John Stamos’s character, Uncle Jesse, goes back to night-school. When he gets there, he jokes that the last time he went to school, he had this teacher he didn’t like who started every class with “Read any good books lately?” John Stamos says this in a mocking droll, which is immediately followed by that same teacher saying that very phrase, with that same droll, moments later.

If I ever start to think “do I like this book?” when I’m reading something, I picture that scene from Full House. If I wouldn’t bring it up in conversation when asked if I’d read any good books lately, I think it’s time to set it aside.

I usually have a few books going at once, which I’ve written about in the past.

Morning reads are for getting my brain going and night-time reads are for down-shifting. Usually, that looks like a non-fiction-to-fiction progression. Lately, however, I’ve been on a fairly lengthy fiction-kick. I’ve spent years sponging up non-fiction so it’s entirely possible I’m overcompensating by tipping the scales in the other direction. Time and again, I’ve heard literary icons share that the best advice they could give to other writers is to read more fiction.

So, I’ve heeded the call.

Harry Potter played a pretty foundational role in my early reading practice, but I drifted from fantasy for a long while in my teens and twenties. Last year, Brandon Sanderson brought me back. Since then, I’ve read a lot of his stuff and been really blown away by his world-building and character development. That said, I’m also taking a short intermission from his Way Of Kings series. Each of his books are like 1,000+ pages and I need to mix it up before I dive back in.

Which is how I find myself with two new books to read to close out The MAP Year Project (less than three weeks left!):

1. On Writing by Stephen King

2. East of Eden by John Steinbeck.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
346/365

Read any good books lately?

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When I was still relatively new to living in Jackson, Wyoming, I remember snowboarding with a training clinic for work toward the beginning of our winter season. I still wasn’t used to riding with the Tetons as my backdrop.

We were drilling on the technically proficient way to ride moguls—as instructors—to ensure we could demonstrate it effectively and talk comfortably about the technique with clients. It was kind of a gray day, not unlike the type I knew from the East Coast, where I grew up. Even though this was early season, there was still more grip on the snow than the icy slopes I was used to. Plus, I was getting paid to practice snowboarding... and I liked riding moguls. Because of those slick and slippery conditions back home, I’d learned to navigate moguls by using a kind of swishing motion. A tail-rudder, if you will. I was good at it. And I could do it while both hauling ass and staying in control. But, I was definitely not “dialed,” as they say—not by the standards used for the certification board we were training for.

There was a group of us riding together that day.

We took turns demoing and swapping feedback. We’re standing there on the side of the slope doing a lot of talking about how to position your body when riding moguls. Where to initiate the turn, when to transfer your weight, how to exaggerate it so the board will respond visibly enough for onlookers to notice.

I remember thinking how dumb it was that there was only one correct way of doing that. According to the cert standards, anyway.

At one point, while we’re stopped above a pitch of bumps, someone else in the group pulled me aside while everyone began to ride. She glided her way in front of me and slowed to a stop. After popping her goggles up on her helmet, she looked at me with a smirk.

“You rip” she said.

Oh shit!

That meant a lot coming from her. She already had the cert I’d be testing for and she was really, really good. With her mittens held together in front of her, she looked past me, uphill, to check if anyone was coming before turning her gaze back to meet mine. Her eyes were playful. She stood there with her posture relaxed, but I could sense there was more coming.

“Look—if you don’t play ball and ride the way they want, you won’t pass.”

Uh...

Oh, shit.

“They’ll fail you” she went on.

“You don’t have to ride like this all the time, but there’s a time and place for it...” she trailed off. “And it’s now.”

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
345/365

Do you “play ball” when you need to, if it means reaching your goals?

Why or why not?

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Going at your own pace seems wrong.

At least for me.

I’m sitting at a wooden table along a wall of windows. This cafe’s around the corner from where I live and coming here on Mondays has become sort of a weekly tradition. I got a coffee and a bacon-egg-and-cheese and I keep meaning to go get a refill but I’m sucked into what I’ve been working on. My laptop’s open on the table in front of me and my notebooks behind it.

It’s lunch-time now and I only know that because it’s crowded. When I first walked in, I was only the second person here. That silence was glorious. Now, at the table behind me, there’s a dad and two kids who are not thrilled about having to sit down and eat their food. In front of me, a toddler with pigtails is slapping the glass windowpane; perhaps in some bizarre attempt to communicate with the bumble bee on the other side. I’m smiling at that, actually. But it takes her mom a minute to notice, and the scolding tone of her response to her little window-slapper made my stomach drop.

So now I’m looking around at the frenetic pace of this room and realize I’ve got my right foot crossed under me, and it’s wedged between my left shin and the metal table legs. Turning to my right, my head tips and I blink. There’s an older woman at the table next to mine. When did she get here? She’s just sitting there with nothing in front of her but a notebook. Her graying hair is poking out of one of those mesh Kavu hats and, while she’s holding a pen, her other hand is in her lap. And she’s leaning back rather than hunching over whatever it is she’s working on.

This woman’s left leg’s crossed over her knee but it’s not bouncing or jittering. She’s not wearing headphones or fidgeting, either. The only thing moving seems to be the pen on the page. I can hear it scratching the paper. Or, well... I must be imagining that because it’s loud as hell in here and I’m wearing headphones. But, still.

Turning back to the array of stuff on the table in front of me, I close my laptop.

And then I grab my notebook and my pen.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
344/365

What's a reminder you got recently from someone who doesn't know they gave it to you?

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Music was a big part of my life growing up.

Listening, playing, curating... music was just part of how I moved through the world. It still is, too. Now, as an adult, most of my days start with music.

Years ago, I discovered that what I listened to in the morning changed the type of day I thought I had. Like, whether or not I thought I was having a “good day” was directly influenced by the kind of music I listened to first thing in the morning.

I used to be on the leadership team at a brewery. My days always started with counting the money from the night before. I’d be the only person in the building, drinking coffee and listening to music in the back office going through spreadsheets, and reconciling payroll with cash tip-outs. They were long days and that was an objectively boring way to start them. But, thinking back on them now, I remember feeling like I was always in a good mood. When I think of that chapter, I think of listening to Jurassic 5, A Tribe Called Quest, and The Pharcyde in the mornings.

These days, I’ve been on a Dave Matthews kick (the live albums). The “Easy Lover” radio playlist is also great for getting ready in the morning. Shout out to Ted Lasso for that tip.

With all love to Noah Kahan, Gregory Alan Isakov, or Olivia Dean... listening to them in the morning doesn’t give me the pep I need.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
343/365

Do you think about what you listen to first thing in the morning?

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It was the shrug that bothered me.

Isobel and I are at an event for her work.

I’m standing off to the side, at the edge of the bar, waiting for our drinks. It’s hot as hell in here and we’ve been waiting forever for the line to die down enough that we could actually get to the bar and order. This is a cool venue, but the lightning meant we couldn’t go outside. In fact, the event staff stationed themselves at the exits to prevent people like me, who needed some breathing room, from sneaking off to go get some. At least, until the lightning stopped. But that caused a thousand people to shuffle to the bar, shoulder-to-shoulder, all at once.

Eventually, Isobel and I were able to order. We each basically got the same thing; except one’s a cocktail and the other’s its mocktail counterpart. But the bartender who rang us up is not the same person who’s making our drinks, so I’m casually watching while that person’s using a two-handed-pour to make both at once.

That always makes me nervous.

From what I could tell, it was essentially vodka, lemonade, mint simple-syrup, and a lime seltzer float. In the many years I spent bartending, I know full-well that it’s faster to make multiple drinks at a time with pre-batched ingredients. Only after I got sober, though, did I really start paying attention to every step of someone else making my drink. Usually there’s a way to tell a non-alcoholic beverage apart from the others... a different sized glass or an extra garnish, maybe two straws instead of one. A bottle and a glass to pour it in.

I’ve seen a lot of these variations.

There’s only one other person at the bar now. Maybe that’s why the bartender who rang us up noticed that I’m watching the drinks being made. Or maybe it’s that I’m still sweating, despite the dispersed crowd. I’d have ditched my suit jacket long ago if I hadn’t been wearing this white button-down. Truthfully, I can’t even remember the last time I wore a tie. I’d been pretty pleased with myself for tying it from muscle-memory on the first go.

As the person making our drinks plops a straw and a lemon in each, I feel my lips and eyebrows form identical lines. Um, ok.... but which one has the booze? The first bartender seems to be thinking the same thing because she turns and asks her colleague. Same glasses, same garnishes, same straws. The first bartender and I share a glance.

Hmm.

And that’s when the person who made the drinks shrugs.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
342/365

What would you have done?

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How to express the sheer magnitude of this...

First, I guess I should apologize in advance for any inadvertent hyperbole. That’s not the goal here and, in fact, it’s something I try to steer completely clear of. So, um... sorry if this goes askew.

Second, I should mention that I’m sitting in the dining room rather than at my desk. It’s actually because of how long I was at my desk that I needed to relocate. So now I’m here.

It’s been kind of a long day. I was up early and made time to read to with my coffee before diving into work-mode. I used to be really good at making time for that but I’ve admittedly slipped a bit lately. Good to feel like “I’m back at it,” though.

When I did jump into work, I was in the zone almost immediately. I recently discovered that, where some folks have “resting bitch face,” I have resting Ron Swanson Face. Picture a furrowed brow, taught jawline, and a focused pair of pursed lips beneath a mustache. It’s a firm gaze that bridges the gap between resignation, introspection, and judgement. At least, that’s how I read it when Nick Offerman plays Ron Swanson making that face.

That’s what I imagined I looked like earlier today.

But it’s certainly not what I look like now.

It’s been been hot as hell, so working inside with the AC was fine by me. These pale-blue, slightly hazy days are deceptively brutal. I also sweat more than the average human (so I’m told).

ANYWAY.

I’ve been trying to figure out this technical issue with one of HubSpot’s built-in modules for months. Come to think of it, maybe it’s been years. I’ve been trapped by the limitations of what this module will and won’t connect to. It’s been insanely aggravating. I looked for alternatives, tried to use integrations from other software products, and reworked entire content strategies because of this hurdle. Nothing. Brick walls at every turn. Welp, recently I had enough.

Without walking through all the boring configuration details (maybe I’ll do that another time), I’ll just share a couple important points.

• I finally sidestepped HubSpot’s system.

• I had to pass through HubSpot’s system to do it.

• I had to start from scratch using a third-party CLI (Command Line Interface).

HubSpot’s AI assistant couldn’t do it and told me I was wrong. ChatGPT couldn’t do it and told me I was wrong. YouTubers walked through why it would fail. But I wanted to combine existing parts to make something that wasn’t already available, hence my predicament. So I looked for ways to do that.

And I was right.

It worked.

So now I’m sitting in my dining room, sans resting Ron Swanson face, feeling absolutely ecstatic at what this unlocks.

More to come but, for now, happy Friday.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
341/365

Where could you do something different with your day-to-day?

onward.

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It was pretty much a scene from a sit-com.

I’m looking at my friend sitting across from me in my living room. It’s early and we’re each clutching fresh mugs of coffee. The sun’s poking through the windows and fluttering past the curtains. He’s sitting with his right leg over his left at the top of the L on the couch, and I’m plopped along the bottom right. Between chuckles, we’ve bopped from his latest rotation at the hospital to the resurrection of Myspace.

Mostly, though, we’re just chit-chatting about life.

That’s when it dawns on me that, for all the times shows like How I Met Your Mother or Friends misrepresent a real day in the life, this might be the first time a normal scene from my life would line up with one from TV. I mean, when’s the last time you walked into a friend’s apartment for coffee before work?

Pulling my eyes from the window behind him, I refocus on my friend. He’s using hand gestures to describe his latest string of overnights as a med student. It’s 7:30am and I have my first call at 8:30am. After weeks of phone tag, he’d asked if I could do breakfast this week. I said absolutely. So he replied with the day that worked best, and when I told him about the call, I assumed maybe we’d try for lunch instead.

“Well, what about before?” he’d asked.

So, here we are—having coffee before work like Chandler and Ross dropping by Monica and Rachel’s first thing in the morning. Sitting up to take a sip from my mug, I’m thinking they might’ve been onto something.

I mean, we had to plan it... but my friend and I managed to get together for coffee.

And it was like a scene from a sit-com.

So I’ll take it.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
340/365

Where could you do something different with your day-to-day?

onward.

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This is huge. Like, hasn’t-happened-in-years level of huge.

I got a picture of me open-mouthed smiling.

Well, ok that sounds...

It’s more nuanced than that. Back in the day, I was uh... predictable yet exuberant when it came to having my picture taken. You could say I smiled wide, but it’s more accurate to say I just opened my mouth wide.

My grandfather’s a professional photographer and videographer, so my cousins and I got used to hearing “say Pepsi!” pretty much any time our family got together (everybody expects “cheese” he’d say). So, right on cue, I’d unhinge my jaw.

I’m told it’s just how I smiled.

Exhibit A:

Eventually, I figured out the whole "smiling" thing. I learned to transform it into something closer to an actual smile. And my camera roll is full of photos where I'm somewhere in the mountains saying "pepsi," to no one but my phone, with my mouth wide open. Well, it used to be full of photos like that, anyway.

Recently I realized I’ve kind of stopped taking pictures altogether.

For a while there I wondered if I was taking too many; if I was snapping outdoor selfies to capture a moment or to post them on Instagram. And, eventually I stepped away from Instagram altogether, somewhere around 2022 or 2023. By that point, I’d already stopped doing a lot of the outdoor stuff I’d once loved, too.

Exhibit B:

~2020

It’s been kind of a long time since I’ve made that face for the camera while goofin around somewhere in the mountains.

In the last handful of years, things have looked a little bit more... reserved. It’s not like there isn’t visible happiness in more recent photos of me. But, maybe it’s safe to say there has been a deficiency of exuberance.

Exhibit C:

~2025

WELL, let me tell ya, the drought is over. It wasn’t even intentional, either; I only realized it after the fact.

It happened the other day while trail running. I was zoomin on a downhill section and when it flattened out I felt the urge to snap a pic. It felt sort of like one of the moments on an outdoor escapade from years ago, but I didn’t add it to my Instagram story. I didn’t even include with my segment on Strava. I guess I’m sharing it here, but it’s really less about “hey, look at me doing stuff outside” and more about the open-mouthed expression emerging from extinction hibernation!!

Ok, ok, ok — ready?

Exhibit D:

2026

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
339/365

Do you take photos anymore? That you don't share on social media?

onward.

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Not to brag, but I said hi to four people on my trail run today.

And the last one made my day.

I was towards the end of my loop, and I’d just realized I was past the section at the top of the hill where I usually take a break. After slogging my way up through the trees, I’d reached the spot where, in my head, I’d made the deal with myself that I could walk and let my lungs recover. But I’d seen two people hiking toward me and for some reason I thought “New plan: keep running until after they pass.” So I did. And I made a point of saying hi to them. “Enjoy your hike!” I’d even called over my shoulder through ragged breaths.

So now, I’m picking my way down the hill and I feel my cheeks momentarily go taught. My lips are pulling them in one direction while my eyebrows yank them skyward. I’ll be damned... looks like I’m running the rest without stopping. Almost immediately, I’m back to focusing on my breathing, though. I notice I slowed down somewhere along the way so now I’m also trying to lengthen my stride but without quickening my pace.

A pink shirt appears on the right side of the trail up ahead from behind the trees. As I get closer I see that it’s an older person—well, older than me—wearing a fanny pack and leggings.

“Hi!” I say.

She looks up, and responds with a simple “hello.” Her voice is gentle, amiable. She gives a soft, closed-mouth grin and looks back toward where she’s headed.

“Enjoy your hike!” I wheeze.

“Wha—”

Her eyes blink and the color seems to return to her face. I hadn’t realized it’d been gone in the first place, but she’s standing up taller now and her head tilts to the side just slightly as a full, open-mouthed smile takes over.

“Oh! Thank you! You too!” she says with a bounce.

I’ve been working on assuming that people want to hear from me/ interact with me/ may even be excited by my presence. Unfortunately, that’s not even close to my default... But that’s why I’ve been pushing myself to say hi to more people.

And when I get to my truck, still running without having stopped, I think maybe I’m standing a bit taller now, too.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
338/365

Do you say hi to the people you pass? Why?

onward.

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It’s downpouring. Rain is pelting the glass and I’m feeling the infamous writer’s “resistance” for the first time in a pretty long time.

I spent the morning plowing through tasks and that’s a very different head-space than one that can collect words on the page—digital or otherwise. Usually I’m able to toggle between them pretty successfully but, at the moment, I’m sitting at my desk clicking through tabs much like a return trip to the fridge after walking away empty-handed the first time.

Looking around, my eyes land on Isobel on the other side of my office. She’s set up at the analog desk, working on her laptop with a typewriter right next to her. I smirk, but it fades quickly when I realize that she’s locked-in to whatever she’s working on and I’m, well... not.

What is with me today??

After a shake of the head and a sigh, I slide my chair back and cross the room. If I can’t focus, I’m not just going to sit there. I’ve got my to-do list, I used the timer; now, I just need to switch things up and try to shake something loose. So, having found what I was looking for, I pull the book from my shelf and go sit in my chair by the window. When I feel stuck as a writer, I like revisiting some of my favorites. It’s almost like I search for the mood I want, and try to absorb it. Today, that’s My Friends by Fredrik Backman. I hadn’t really given it much thought before grabbing it, so now I’m listening to the rain wail against the glass and I’m wondering why—why this book? Why today?

I tilt my head to the right. I feel the left side of my neck tighten and I’m waiting for the popping crACK I hope will follow. I’ve been doing a lot of work on theunobstructed.com lately and, while going through older posts of mine, I keep finding writing that sounds and feels like me, which is good, but there’s just so many different shapes and structures. Maybe it’s that I’m too in my head...

It feels like I have the YIPS ok?

Like a baseball player who’s overthinking the mechanics of their swing and who can’t seem to make it feel like it’s supposed to, let along make contact with a pitch. So, today I just want to feel what it’s supposed to feel like and Fredrik Backman’s way of writing does that for me. He writes like I think. When I read his work, it feels frictionless. There’s no need for me to construct scenes, decipher meaning, or connect the dots; it just happens.

Today, after finding myself all tangled up at my desk, I’m sitting by the window where the rain’s still peppering the glass, and I just want to feel what “good” looks like.

And not think about it.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
337/365

How do you reset when you get jammed-up?

onward.

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What is it about me that keeps people at a distance?

I’m genuinely asking.

Looking around the internet, I see a few kinds of people who all seem to be:

• pushing themselves to share more openly.

• giving personal-growth advice.

• teaching businessy advice.

• farming relatability.

They get a lot of engagement. Like, a lot a lot. And from what I can tell, there’s only really three different approaches used between them.

1. “Be a teacher” — The approach where the writer says stuff like “if you want ___, you have to ___.”

2. “I’m one of you” — The approach where the writer sort of acts like the class clown and throws some shade at the teacher so the reader can feel like they’re in on the joke.

3. “The quiet kid” — The approach where the writer’s just doing the work and sharing it.

Regardless of the approach I use, it feels like people seem to stay away from me.

Why is that?

That’s the part I can’t figure out.

This used to really bother me. It still does to some extent, but not like it used to. Now, I’m just genuinely curious. When I first started my newsletter, while still trying to find my voice again, I wrote more as “the teacher.” From an engagement perspective, it seemed to work ok. I was getting views, people were “liking” my posts, and subscribers rolled in regularly, albeit slowly. Over time, I shifted somewhat intentionally toward the “I’m one of you” approach. I really don’t like people who spout off unwavering advice and I didn’t want to be part of that group. My views dropped and my new subscriber rate decreased, but the amount of “likes” I’d get stayed steady. It even went up in some cases.

With time, it felt like I was trying less and less to be heard and, instead, was just focused on being... well, me. People seemed to like it. Even better, I liked it. A lot, actually. I think that’s how I eventually wound up in “the quiet kid” lane. I went from writing specifically for the people who might read it to casually inviting folks to come see what I see and then choose what they think for themselves.

My engagement plummeted.

But my open-rates didn’t.

Weird, right?

I started getting less views overall, and fewer “likes,” but existing subscribers still actively read my work. I basically stopped getting new subscribers, though. Yet, my existing readers kept showing up (yes, that’s you!). They even started sharing stuff more, just not publicly; they forward things via email or copy a link to send.

So... what the fuck does all this mean?

Well, I’ll level with ya—I’m sort of at a loss with what to make of this. I’ve got plenty of questions, a few guesses, and a willingness to be wrong on all counts. Is it that people, by and large, don’t care about the kind of stuff I write about? Is it that they like the topics but not “the quiet kid” approach? For those who don’t like it, is it because it asks them to do too much of the thinking part themselves? What if the same stuff I write about were formatted in the “one of you” style? Would that make a difference? Or, is it that for as long as the written word’s been around, readers really just want to be handed the answers from the author as “the teacher?”

I truly don’t know.

Maybe it’s some combination of all the above.

Or, maybe it’s that the distribution engine’s changed, yet again, and discoverability on Substack skews towards those who share regularly in the Notes feed... something I stopped doing a while back because it felt like it was turning into every other social media platform I didn’t like and opted to leave.

So, my best guess at the moment is that, either way, this online writing thing is a game of social capital.

And, perhaps it’s that I simply don’t have it.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
336/365

Do you gravitate toward the "teacher", the "one of you", or the "quiet kid" approach?

onward.

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Any guesses where this photo was taken?

Since I’ve been trying to be better about sharing the process instead of just the product, here’s my latest 3x3.

1. Monthly updates:

1. Back to running, biking, and soccer!

2. Podcast 2.0 is in full swing!!

3. New site nav and layout!!!

2. Primary focus areas:

1. Prepping the manuscript for editing.

2. Planning for life after the MAP Year Project (gulp).

3. Tagging all posts in the archive for the new site sections.

3. What I’m currently reading:

1. Wool by Hugh Howey.

2. Buckeye by Patrick Ryan.

3. Chapter 12 of The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron
   (for the MAP Year Project).

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
335/365

What does your 3x3 look like?

onward.

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There’s this video that’s been in my “watch later” queue on YouTube for... I don’t even know how long.

It’s a short film about sailing through the Northwest Passage. It’s ~25 minutes long, which is not a huge undertaking, so I’m not really sure why I’ve been putting it off. Like, that’s so, so doable. Regardless, today’s the day I went for it.

And I’m really glad I did.

Honestly, if I’d known Renan Ozturk was involved, I’d have watched it a hell of a lot sooner. He’s the adventure filmmaker behind projects like Meru with Jimmy Chin and Conrad Anker. I was sort of surprised to see him on a boat since he’s more of a climber, but The Polar Passage is no joke so it actually makes a ton of sense.

As cool as it would be to go on some extreme epic like that, I’m not sure if I can wrap my head around the risk of getting trapped between ice near the North Pole. You know what: trapped is putting it lightly. The risk is getting crushed.... like Luke Skywalker had he not escaped the trash compactor. Now, with snowboarding involved, I could probably be persuaded...

However, sailing and I have sort of a weird relationship.

I spent some time on a sailboat in the Caribbean a number of years ago, and it was life-changing. Clear-blue waters, more stars than I think I’ve ever seen, solo night-passages at the helm while surrounded by bioluminescent waters... It was unreal. And at the same time, I discovered that, despite the amount of time I’ve spent on the water throughout my lifetime, apparently I get sea-sick now that I’m an adult. Make that make sense, why don’t ya.

Something from the film did stick with me, though. The crew did get stuck. They got boxed in by the ice and thought they were going to be shipwrecked. When the winds changed, it jogged the ice flow loose enough that they thought they might be able to zig-zag their way to open water.

So they had a choice: make a break for it and deal with everything that was bound to go wrong while possibly getting unstuck, or stay still and definitely remain stuck.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
334/365

Would you stay still or go for it?

onward.

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