It’s February 1.
The headlines are loud. They always are. The world feels like it is stretching and creaking under strain – geopolitics, markets wobbling, alliances fraying, culture wars reheating themselves every election cycle. It feels like something is building pressure. You can sense it, even if you cannot name it yet.
But that is out there.
In here – from January 15 to now – life has been about systems.
Refining them. Tightening them. Making them boringly reliable.
Logistics at Home
Sharon is in her element.
Her last business oar still in the water may finally lift clear. The commercial property looks like it will sell within 45 to 60 days. Not done yet – nothing is done until ink dries – but the indicators are strong. That brings decisions. Immediate capital gains and redeploy into equity. Or 1031 into new projects down here in St. George and keep the cash flowing.
We have walked properties. Run numbers. Built little pro formas at the kitchen table. We almost decided to just pay the taxes and push everything into equities. Simple. Clean.
But the markets have stalled. Six months of sideways churn. Worst opening month for a calendar year in a very long time. Cash flow has its own seduction when uncertainty thickens.
We are not in a rush. That is the point. Systems give you optionality.
Meanwhile, her trail systems are sharpening.
The dehydrator and freeze dryer have become extensions of her mind. Tofu – of all things – is turning into trail gold. Cheap. Efficient. We press it for an hour or more. Cube it into 3/8 inch pieces. Pre-freeze. Freeze-dry. No cook required. It drinks up sauce flavors and rehydrates chewy and dense. At half the cost of meat protein, it competes gram for gram.
This is what preparation looks like. Not dramatic. Just iterative.
Physical Systems
My body is stabilizing.
Morton’s neuroma pain is gone. What remains is numbness under the forefoot pad. Neuropathy still runs from below the knee down into the ankle and toes. Very little feeling in the toes. None over the ankle bone.
There is a strange duality in that. I do not feel cold feet. I do not feel blisters forming.
But that means I must check.
Plantar fasciitis – once pervasive – has nearly vanished. That alone feels like a small miracle.
Training is simple. Twenty five pound vest. Twice daily. About three miles each time. Light household labor layered in. Nothing heroic. Just consistent.
I filed for VA disability. Soft tissue cancer. My identical twin did not get it. I did. The difference between us is not genetics. It is exposure – Korea, Haiti, training areas, barracks with known hazards. Now we wait on the determination.
Waiting is its own discipline.
Community Systems
Something else has changed.
After five years here – and four of those shaped by COVID caution and chemo-damaged lungs – I finally made local friends.
Climbers.
The group is 50 plus. Mostly well plus. My regular partner is 78 years old and outclimbs me. Gym and crag. No apologies. The informal lead of the group is a 71 year old woman who has guided professionally all over the desert Southwest.
They are older than me.
They are stronger than me.
They are showing me how aging can look when it is done on purpose.
I climb every other day now. 5.8 to 5.10b. Marked gains in core, grip, back, legs, even toes. It is infinitely better than the weight room. There is joy in problem solving with your body against stone.
I leave each session tired in a way that feels constructive.
Family Systems
My twin has a confirmed start date. I have requested a permit alignment so we can link up on the PCT. Waiting on confirmation.
We have done this kind of thing before. It does not require much discussion. When. Where. How long. Who carries the stove. Who carries the shelter.
Or maybe no tent at all. Just a tarp. Or cowboy camp.
We know how to move together.
At home, our family is full and complicated in the best ways. Two granddaughters close by. Two adult sons back under our roof for now – one carrying the visible marks of long war-zone deployments and a 75 percent VA disability rating, the other carrying quieter wounds from childhood and a mentally ill birth mother.
Sharon and I are not alone.
We are surrounded.
The Quiet Before
There is a sense – faint but present – that the larger world is shifting in ways we do not fully grasp yet. Markets twitch. Alliances strain. Cultural fault lines glow faintly under the surface.
I am not ignoring it.
But I am not living there either.
On February 1, my work is here – tightening systems, strengthening tendons, drying tofu, walking with weight, building friendships with people older and tougher than me, aligning permits with my twin.
The world may get loud.
I am getting ready to walk.
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