I’m in NC. I took a plane here. Visiting my parents. Also I had an interview for a worship-leading job. It was interesting, fun, maybe a little stressful. North Carolina is relentlessly green and relentlessly hot. That’s the way I think of it. I can breathe here better. I notice myself relaxing. It’s nice to be with my parents. One of the perks of growing older is being with one’s parents as an adult.

I’m so tired. I woke up at 4:45 a.m. in Brooklyn. Took an Uber to JFK. The baggage line where you put your stuff in the bins was chaotic. One of the more chaotic experiences I’ve had going through security. No one knew quite what to do, and the ones in charge didn’t quite know how to tell us. There was a lot of standing around. Hapless people everywhere and I was one of them. I complained, to a guy in a badge and a blue TSA shirt. I wasn’t angry or upset, just trying to register an opinion as a traveler. He didn’t really know what to do with my complaint. He just kind of shrugged and I shrugged back. Ah, plane travel in America.

There’s more, more. I feel the writing bug in me. I have been reading a book my sister gave me called “From Where You Dream,” which is a collection of transcripts of talks given by Robert Olen Butler. The main thesis is that when you write you should be writing from the same place from which you dream — the pure subconscious, or as close to the sub conscious as you can get.

And I think this is right. I wrote a guest post for my friend Tamara’s blog recently about vocation, and talked about songwriting, and how occasionally I get to this pure place where images and ideas come bubbling up and tumbling forth. I believe it is the same place Robert Olen Butler speaks of, and I’m anxious to reach this place more and to write.

This is a short post, It’s time for bed. Good night.