25-4-25-F
115 ⏳ 250 🗓️ W17
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🌡️61° – 48° 🌤️
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🫖 Perseverance, Ponderings, and the Perfect Cup
The night granted me a rare kindness. Two acetaminophen and two Aleve, my modest allies, dulled the ache in my back and ushered in a sleep deeper than I have known for weeks. Perhaps the deeper slumber owed itself not merely to chemistry, but to the small experiment of omitting glucosamine and chondroitin from my nighttime regimen. A pivot, minor yet meaningful.
Morning unfurled with an unexpected 30-minute ritual of mild stretching — an offering to the slow resurrection of my body. I moved carefully, like a ship easing itself back into water after long dry dock. In the mirror’s pale reflection, I glimpsed the outline of a six-pack, a quiet testament to discipline’s long labor. Though four or five pounds yet cling stubbornly to me, I found a rare satisfaction standing there, midstream in the morning’s current.
💡 Epictetus: “First say to yourself what you would be; and then do what you have to do.”
❓ How often do we overlook the small adjustments that, over time, recalibrate the very course of our lives?
The day carried on its own eccentricities. Sergio Gomez from One Generation called, regret heavy in his voice. The resurfacing of the Meridian Point driveway, ordered by the ever-ambitious management, blocked any food deliveries to the door. Out I went, like a reluctant courier, to retrieve the meals myself. Lasagna, limp and listless; vegetables, overcooked into mush. Hardly the feast a man dreams of, but sustenance nonetheless.
Back inside, I separated the milk and salad, setting aside Lorena’s daily gift — a quiet ritual now. Lorena, the maintenance employee with warm eyes and a laugh like sunlight on a dusty floor, waits each day for her portion, and I gladly oblige.
Wandering through the lobby, I encountered a relic: a dual hot plate, sitting there as if forgotten by time. Matt, the maintenance engineer, informed me it was spare equipment for tenants. Briefly tempted by visions of boiling water for tea like an old sea captain aboard a storm-tossed ship, I resisted — persuaded instead by Matt’s enthusiastic pitch for an electric kettle. Within minutes, I found myself swept up in the great modern bazaar of Amazon, selecting a sleek vessel to summon my morning brew with greater dignity.
💡 Lao Tzu: “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”
Soon, my Corsair kettle will arrive — a device that will whistle a hymn to morning rituals and lend my tea the proper ceremony it deserves. No more microwaved indignities. A cup of tea, properly steeped, is less a beverage than a benediction.
❓ What simple rituals do we neglect, not realizing they could sanctify the ordinary hours of our days?
Still, another temptation brews: a small device to keep the tea warm throughout my morning writing sessions. I contemplate it as Crusoe might ponder building yet another tool upon his island — less from want, more from the quiet joy of self-sufficiency.
Anna Sanchez crossed my path today, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. We spoke at length about the fasting life — a philosophy of patience and restraint. I directed her to the very app I use, guiding her steps toward a healthier shore. She listened intently, her resolve budding like spring after a long, weary winter. She asked me, sincerely, to be her reminder, her quiet lighthouse through the fog of old habits. I accepted gladly.
💡 Lao Tzu: “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”
❓ How often do we forget that even the smallest encouragement can anchor someone else’s hope?
Later, soft guitar melodies flowed through my room, courtesy of Amazon Prime. Their gentle rhythms stitched together the fragments of my morning — updating the blog, weaving new diary entries, conjuring fresh artwork. Each note felt like sunlight through leaves, reminding me that artistry, like living, thrives on rhythm.
🏋️♂️ World’s Gym: Old App, New Ritual
The day’s second adventure belonged to technology — a fickle companion. My World’s Gym app, faithful once, now lay inert. Gold’s Gym had shifted to a newer, lesser-rated app, the SoCal edition, promising 3.8 stars of frustration.
Fisher, the gym’s general manager — broad-shouldered, sandy-haired, with the permanent squint of one who has seen too many login screens betray him — aided me in navigating the digital labyrinth. After deleting the old app, downloading the new, and resetting credentials, the beast finally stirred.
Choosing a profile photo posed a small dilemma. I settled on a cartoon image commissioned long ago, a whimsical portrait of myself — animated yet unmistakably me. The old gym database, however, retains my original photo like a ghost trapped in a frame. No matter. In the grand scheme, a small triumph.
The workout itself was steady and satisfying. Abs awakened first, followed by the rhythmic pull of the SkiErg. Standing calf raises — fifteen sets of determined elevation. Hammer strength pulldowns — a slow, grinding symphony of muscle and breath. Nothing heroic, merely the steady, unyielding persistence that reshapes a man, day by day.
💡 Seneca: “It is not that we have a short time to live, but that we waste much of it.”
❓ How much time do we squander waiting for conditions to be perfect, when the real perfection lies in the steady act of doing?
Before I departed, inspiration struck like a rogue wave. In the cool aftermath of exertion, I created fresh artwork for my diaries — vibrant, full of the life force I’d summoned from the morning’s discipline.
There is a simple, sacred pleasure in doing what must be done. In lifting. In listening. In living deliberately.
❓ What hidden joys await us, simply for choosing to stay faithful to the work of today?
💡 Søren Kierkegaard: “Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.”
Reflection
Today was stitched together not by grand gestures, but by small, steady acts of persistence: a stretch, a conversation, a cup of tea, a line of prose. In this, I find life’s truest music — not the thunderous chorus of triumph, but the quiet hum of faithful endeavor.
RMSDJ
Title: Perseverance, Ponderings, and the Perfect Cup
Style: Cubist Surrealism
Format: Vertical canvas
Palette: Earthen ochres, muted blues, storm-gray, sienna, gold
This Cubist-Surrealist composition captures the ritual of morning reflection through fractured geometry and layered symbolism. A contemplative male figure, angular and abstracted, gazes toward a steaming teacup — both cup and kettle rendered in intersecting planes, as if time and thought had splintered them into memory and motion. His gaze is both inward and outward, suggesting a mind suspended between the persistence of habit and the weight of philosophical inquiry.
The teapot, exaggerated in form and floating above its base, suggests ascension — a small act made sacred. The teacup below, perfectly imperfect in its construction, glows with a golden infusion, hinting that within the mundane lies transcendence.
A swirling interplay of light and shape evokes the fragmented texture of lived experience — the grind of the daily, the serenity of ritual, and the silent clarity that comes only in stillness.
This piece is a meditation on devotion to the ordinary, the sacred rhythm of repetition, and the quiet heroism of a man making tea while rebuilding himself.
Perfect for a study, reading nook, or reflective space where ideas steep as slowly and powerfully as the perfect cup.
RMS INSIGHTS ✍🏾 