Hello in there?

There was silence for a time and then she said, "I can't remember."  ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ Hello in there? On small talk, long travel and growing older Four months ago, a pissed off Nissan Altima did about $9,000 worth of damage to my Toyota FJ. The impact bent my back axle like a wire hanger. It's apparently a bear to repair an axle on an FJ so I've been without a vehicle for most of the fall, getting around through a mix of walking, jogging, rentals cars, hitching rides with friends and the occasional horse and buggy. Last Wednesday, I finally got her back from the repair shop and was chomping at the bit to hit the road. Twenty-four hours after pulling into my driveway, my father and I loaded her up, tossed June in the back and embarked on a 2,000 mile roadtrip across the country. By the time we reached our halfway mark of Albuquerque, New Mexico, we were so dog-tired our foreheads were practically falling over our eyes. We settled into a pueblo-styled home, fed June a big bowl of kibble that once upon a time was venison and then ventured out to find dinner of our own. We ended up dinning at a steakhouse that sat in the back of a liquor store. To access it, you walk into the liquor store and approach the cashier who then rolls the counter to the side, granting you entrance into a bustling bar festooned with Elvis memorabilia and the head of an enormous, beautiful longhorn that hurts somewhere deep in your chest to look at for too long. While we waited for a table to open up, we each ordered a bourbon ginger that was so strong we couldn't taste the ginger and I sat down beside a woman that looked to be in her late eighties. We chatted for a bit. She told me she absolutely loved the place. Naturally, I asked her what she liked to order. Her face broke into an enormous grin and her eyes suddenly looked faraway in search of the answer she wanted so badly to give me. There was silence for a time and then she said, "I can't remember." I felt sad––thinking about that Prine song about people growing old and lonesome––until I saw that she wasn't sad at all but amused by it all. She returned my question and as I was drawing a blank her daughter walked up and sat down and said, "Momma, are you making friends?" By [Cole Schafer](=)​ P.S. Validate me on [Instagram](, [Twitter](), [LinkedIn]() or [Threads](=). --------------------------------------------------------------- Dead Poets Society "Sucking the marrow out of life doesn't mean choking on the bone." ​ Lockeland Table in Nashville, Tennessee serves this dish comprised of beef bones split in two like halved firewood. They will broil them to a crisp and plate them on a heavy piece of ceramic accompanied by five or six slices of grilled sourdough and a pink mound of pickled onions. You run your spoon down the length of one of those bones and the marrow falls atop the sourdough in a beautiful, fatty, glistening heap. Take one bite and you become intimately aware of what Robin Williams was getting at in Dead Poets Society. Go to Lockeland, order this dish, savor it and then, for the rest of your life––be it in work, art, love, travel, friendship, grief and even in the beautifully ordinary everyday moments like the morning's first cup of coffee––chase the deliciousness of that taste; that depth. [WANNA BONE?]( --------------------------------------------------------------- How to write a song on Meth Pushing past the limit, trippin' on hallucinogenics. ​ Singer-songwriter Matt Maeson wrote [Hallucinogenics](=) high on meth. The story goes that he was piss drunk at a house party when he noticed a bunch of people going in and out of a sketchy looking room––his curiosity got the better of him. He ventured in, was offered meth and the rest is history. Maeson would later say it was the greatest feeling he ever had... for about 17 minutes. To take the edge off the post-Meth depression, he took some Xanax and went back to his hotel room to lick his wounds. Maeson then wrote a song he would later call Hallucinogenics and passed out. Today, that particular song has 179 million streams on Spotify. It changed his life. While I sure as hell would never recommend you try meth, there is something to be said for altering your mind thoughtfully and––more importantly––safely. If you're interested in dabbling in the world of psychedelics,[Schedule35]() is a trusted psilocybin brand that makes micro-dosing at sub-hallucinogenic levels seamless for writers, artists and entrepreneurs looking to enjoy greater control over their creativity. Today, Schedule35 is gifting The Process readers 15% off their first order with code “dreamland” at checkout. [TAKE A TRIP]() --------------------------------------------------------------- The parachute will hold Trust in the process then––jump ​ When we focus too much on the outcome, we tend to freak ourselves out. Take skydiving for example. The odds of dying in a skydiving accident are slim––for every 100,000 jumps that take place each year, one ends in death. The odds of us dying canoeing are higher than us dying jumping out of a plane. Yet, despite this, most of us are terrified of jumping out of a plane and no amount of reassurance that we will live to tell the tale will make us feel any better about free-falling from 6,000 feet above the ground. In order to find the courage to jump, we must let go of the outcome and trust entirely in the process. We must trust in our instructor, our pilot, our gear and our training. We must trust that if we follow the process, good things will happen. Self-doubt surrounding ourselves and our work isn't unlike skydiving in that no amount of reassurance can relieve ourselves––even in the moments when the odds are in our favor––the only cure is to let go of the outcome and trust in the process. [SCARED OF HEIGHTS](=) --------------------------------------------------------------- Spend it all Writing advice from author, Annie Dillard ​ In [The Writing Life](, Annie Dillard offers up the following advice to the writer terrified of running out of words... “One of the few things I know about writing is this: spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book, or for another book; give it, give it all, give now. The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now. Something more will arise for later, something better. These things fill from behind, from beneath, like well water.” Never be afraid to empty the well. [SHARE THIS](=) --------------------------------------------------------------- [[twitter]​]()[[instagram]​]([[linkedin]​]() ​ [Update your email preferences]( or unsubscribe [here](​ © 2023 The Process 113 Cherry St #92768, Seattle, WA 98104-2205