Wild Road
2026-05-18
You don't know what you have unless you can give it away.
I've felt a wave of inspiration recently, and I'm watching it go away in real time. It's such a sad and beautiful thing, these ephemeral impulses. I think you felt it too, and maybe we're seeing an aftermath of sorts. Isn't it so special? The words don't feel like they're shooting out like normal, but each keystroke is coming out like a small flare from an even smaller pistol. This week is the Holy Ascension—you know, when Christ ascends up to Heaven to sit at the right hand of the Father after giving the apostles the Holy Spirit and the playbook to establish the Church. It's this Thursday, and it feels too intense to know that it's coming, to sit with the feeling, and realize that it's going to be like this every year I have left on this earth. I think with posting art online, we feel like we're shouting into some kind of void—that the only way it feels real is based on engagement, that that's the only real reception we can perceive. If it's not there, it can feel for naught, right?
I don't feel that way at all. What many see as a void is actually this deeply textural and layered thing. Digital media, physical media, it doesn't matter—it's all a small part in this larger, unspeakable whole that we can only grasp for in small pieces. Those little bits like a kind message or seeing increased traction don't speak to the greater impact of what's really happening. I know you're here, lending me your eyes, and the power I feel from all of you makes me try my best to come here with the best words I have for you. I'm no guide, no greater authority in anything majorly tangible, yet God decided to give me the power of these simple bits of text on a webpage to tell you that you are a loved, special individual. I'm sorry if I say the wrong things sometimes—a small wave of indignation that goes through you from my text—maybe it makes you think, or perhaps reconsider something you've been thinking about. I think I'll try my best to help you somehow today.
The little things get to me, you know. When there's a small change in the regimen, a thing I misplace and can't find—it makes me wonder how I have the stamina to keep going. I treasure time alone, not worried about performance or judgment. I've realized just how much I've been masking my entire life, and how so much of my spiritual suffering came from not being able to accept certain parts of who I am. I go through so many periods in my life where I think I have myself totally explored, totally seen by my own mind's eye. Then, another layer peels back, and I wonder how it stayed hidden from me for so long. I'm a weirdo, but I spent so much time trying to be harmonious with people that I forgot how to give myself the proper time to express myself. My sister screams a lot when she's at home, but it's in this way to self-soothe. I feel so bad when I tell her to stop because I know she can't help it. When I'm alone, usually in my car listening to a really good music set, I've recently been practicing those self-soothing behaviors. I didn't think I needed it, that it wasn't who I am—but that's something new I'm learning about myself.
I feel a lot better when I have that time alone to just be autistic for a little while. The labels are a problem, mostly because they force us into these identitarian boxes that don't play nice with everyone's idiosyncrasies. I don't have to be anything, really. But there's more comfort in knowing, I suppose. Maps are good, but the territory still precedes them. And that territory is constantly changing, not the map itself. We don't need to know where we're going to figure out where we are; all we need to do is look around, maybe spread our arms a little bit, take a whiff, listen a little bit more closely. It's overwhelming, I know. I'm sorry it's that way. I wish I could help you make it better. I wish I could make it all go away, but I can't. I'm just as human as you are, and I have so much to work through still.
This art helps me figure it out. When I'm forced to confront my thoughts and wrestle with them in real time for others, that lack of loneliness I can give you is something I cherish deeply, albeit in the solitude of writing them. Still, it's what the Lord put me on this earth to do, I think. I've somehow been given this opportunity, and if I start taking it for granted, I'm afraid of what I might become. Help me stay human, why don't you? What have you got to lose in doing so? There's still so much work to do, but just for today, I'll help you get through these next few seconds and try to remind you of what's really important: your family, your work, that new person you keep seeing in that new place you've been going to. Tell them you like their shirt or something, I don't know. Tell them your name, what you've been thinking about recently. People can handle a lot more than you might suspect, so don't be afraid to try something out. But if you don't act on it, that's okay.
Just keep coming back.
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