It’s approaching midnight and I’m in a lodge that sits cliffside on the western shelf of civilization. The brink of the world falls deeply into the Pacific, while I cling to thoughts of home. A handful of ceiling lights shine on the lacquered wooden tables and benches. I open my cell phone to check for messages. There are no rings or tones. I reboot my phone and check once again. The wireless signal shows a full set of curved lines fanning outward. Then, the sound of two bells crashing into each other lifts my mood. I see a message from a dear friend and one from my mother. Both are welcome but they’re not the response I’m waiting for. I look towards the dark recesses of the lodge and wait for a lost message to find its way home.

Three days ago, I wasn’t on the edge of the world, I was on top of it. It was our first date and I was driving to pick her up from downtown. We met a week...

1. When one door closes, another opens
2. Yoga can be a real workout.
3. Don’t ask for a kiss.
4. Left alone, penis size is determined by the ambient temperature.
5. Long drives are easier with regular stretch breaks.
6. My show and tell talent is writing.
7. You can’t please everyone.
8. Direct experience alleviates all anxieties.
9. Dancing is an easy window to the flow state.
10. There’s always someone who has worse problems.
11. I can do a hanstand!
12. There’s more to learn from the familiar

ACTION: Go for Gold.
ACTION: Write routinely (e.g in this blog).
ACTION: Stay busy with the now.

A group of after-partiers trickle in as the heat from the housewarming cools to an icy mist.

“What are you smoking?”

“Pipe.”

“Let me try.”

She grabs the polished piece of briar wood, holds it to her lips, and inhales the flame into the pipe. The chamber, layered with Natural American Spirit tobacco, glows. As smoke crawls out of nostrils she says, “needs more kick.”

The sliding glass door opens and a towering person steps out on the balcony. His collared black shirt, contouring a bulging belly, is tucked into his blue jeans. He flicks his cigarette over the balcony’s edge, “Let’s go out for a drink.”

She takes a second puff from the pipe, this time inhaling with conviction. While facing me, she turns her eyes to the gray-haired stranger, “He’s ‘Vlad the Impaler.’ They call him that because he impales all the girls.”

“I’ll impale a lot more than that,” his Romanian accent slicks...

Pope Francis flew into Medellin on the same morning we left for the countryside. Our goal, mount the Rock of Guatape.

At the edge of a peninsula, the Rock is perched on a grassy hill. Its body resembles a massive humpback whale swimming up to the heavens. And its head gazes at the clouds while nudging the sky. Within the Rock’s crevice, man-made stairwells zig-zag to the top.

“I go up only once a year,” our tour guide says, as he steps into the shade of a coffee house.

I start to stretch my legs but stop when I absorb the immensity of the task, no preparation will suffice. Without ceremony, I start the ascent. Each step is manageable but the endless succession gives me pause. I look over the stairwell’s railing and see I am several stories high. At eye-level, birds fly into nests forged on the Rock’s uneven surfaces. A number drawn on the floor marks the total steps mounted: 300. I...

It’s 105 degrees as the daylight gushes into our vehicle. Inside, with solid black interior and windows rolled up, I can feel the dryness mummifying my skin. We listen to the hum of the AC as a gust of cool air snails its way to the rear of the car.

Aly, in the passenger seat with wheat-brown hair standing on end, turns to the us and says, “Dan, am I an asshole?”

Dan clears his throat, “There are things you’ve done that can be seen that way.”

“Like what?” Aly says.

“Like how you blasted techno music while I was sleeping this morning.”

“You were awake!”

“I was in lying in bed with one eye open,” Dan says. “And let’s not forget how you’re trying to hook up with girls while you have a wife. So yeah, I guess you’re an asshole.”

Aly, cranks his neck further to look at me, “Adam, do you think I’m an asshole?”

“Definitely. You’re an asshole,” I say.

“How am I an asshole! You’re the...

“Go stag.” It’s the advice I take when attending my work’s annual spring gala. Arriving at the luxury hotel, I note the attendees are dressed in black-and-white attire. I inspect my light blue shirt and red tie nestled within my charcoal gray suit. I want to punch myself for not reviewing the dress code, but I decide it’s alright to stand out. As a new employee at the medical center, flying solo, and looking for love, it’s best to stand out.

I look for friends and acquaintances in the sea of tuxedos but it seems like I’m the only person I know. Where are my coworkers from the clinic or my colleagues from the lunchtime lectures? In a subdued panic, I take a looping stroll around the ballroom to search for someone I recognize.

“Hey!” I screech, pointing to a girl I met at an icebreaker event.

“Hey, Adam,” she says.

I clear my throat, “You’re…” trying to recall her icebreaker name...

Today is the new millennium’s most fated rematch. What’s on the line? Not a championship to be won, but a legacy to be reclaimed. To remind oneself that one can be shaken not shattered. Battered not broken. Today’s fight centers on a single prize, pride.

It’s a sizzling Sunday morning in August, and I am in the swamp-like heat of Hiroshima, Japan. My tour group explores the atomic bomb landmarks as I run to my hotel to experience a different type of apocalypse. Using my iPhone’s five-inch screen, I navigate the pay-per-view web page and squeeze the digital “BUY” button. In nanoseconds, virtual gates open to a fight occurring 6,000 miles across the Pacific.

A fight showcases one man’s ability to bend his opponent’s space and time. To send his adversary into a dimensionless chaos that can only be stopped by the sound of a bell or the hands of a referee. And the present shifts from what...

Outside the temple, I stand on slabs of Japanese oak bordering the garden. I survey the landscape noting the absence of foliage, flowers, and fruit. Only millions of popcorn sized rocks lay on the ground. Their collective mass meshes into a sea of grey and beige. With such similar colors, the topographical map morphs from a live painting to a 3D Magic Eye.

A seated visitor stares into the midst as if hearing a prayer. I join her, listening to silence and moving to stillness. In the garden’s corner stands a mound of rocks shaped like a volcanic eruption among the manicured stony waves. The peak of each mound is bolstered by thousands of its rocky brethren. Ruling from high above, one rock is perched til the day it rolls to the bottom to repeat its ascent once more. Over years, new and old become relative terms in the cyclical eternity. Change within the constant.

I look at the garden...

Bubbles of rosé rise to the surface as I look into her eyes. Slipping into those hazel irises, I take a sip from my glass to stay afloat. She’s adorable. I resist succumbing to the sweet pleasure of her lips while in the company of others.

We walk to her doorstep and she invites me in. She’s in the kitchen preparing drinks. As I admire the effort, I am taken aback by the curves of Britney’s back. She turns and smiles. I grab her hips and experience her volume through the soles of my palms. She utters something, but before it manifests into words I pull her closer.

Her initial kiss is a dart. She pounces on my lips then cocks her head back to assess my expression–bliss. She then slowly leans in for a melt of collagen and flesh. We stand in symbiosis. Her sways and swoops counter mine. A see-saw in balance with mouths moving between breaths.

We sit on the sofa and the remaining...