The Sabbath Principle: Why Labor Day Should Mean Actually Resting
In an always-on world where even holidays become shopping opportunities, we've forgotten what rest actually means — and why our humanity depends on it.
technology as tool, never master
Essays on five domains of humanity — spiritual, mental, physical, relational, financial — asking one question of technology each time: does it genuinely serve, or quietly erode?
In an always-on world where even holidays become shopping opportunities, we've forgotten what rest actually means — and why our humanity depends on it.
In an age of instant connections and algorithmically curated relationships, baseball's 162-game season offers an ancient wisdom about what it means to show up, day after day, for the people who matter.
In an age of algorithmic playlists and infinite scroll, jazz vocalist Cassandra Wilson reminds us that true listening—and true presence—requires something technology cannot manufacture: patience.
A new study linking xylitol to cardiovascular risk reminds us that technological solutions to human problems often hide costs we only discover years later.
Travel restrictions remind us that some journeys matter because of their difficulty, not despite it—and that documenting everything might be robbing us of the very transformation we seek.
Dolly Parton's devotion to her dogs reminds us that faithfulness in the smallest relationships can anchor us against a world optimized for endless scale.
Yayoi Kusama's mirrored installations teach us something essential about confronting vastness — a lesson we desperately need in an age of infinite scroll.
What country music's enduring presence teaches us about commitment in an age of algorithmic playlists and viral moments.
The recall of Fromm and Oma's Pride pet foods reveals how digital platforms have trained us to react to crises rather than prevent them—and what we lose when citizenship becomes performance instead of practice.
When the earth moves beneath our feet, we remember what it means to be human bodies in a physical world—vulnerable, interdependent, and remarkably resilient.
In an age of infinite streams and algorithmic feeds, choosing to watch a regular-season baseball game is a small act of resistance—and a larger practice of presence.
When a pop star's haircut becomes news, we're not just watching celebrity culture—we're participating in a system designed to keep us perpetually monitoring minor changes in strangers' lives.
Construction workers stumbling upon gold reminds us that the most valuable discoveries often happen when we're faithful in ordinary work—a truth technology can help us remember, if we let it.
When jackpots soar, millions buy tickets they know won't win. The real question isn't about odds—it's about what we're actually hoping for.
When flight delays strip away our schedules and devices fail us, we're left with something we've almost forgotten how to do: simply be present with strangers.
When the Powerball jackpot climbs, millions of people buy tickets they know won't win. What are they really purchasing?
Long-range forecasts offer the illusion of control. What if we focused instead on the resilience we can actually build today?
When election results flash across our screens in real-time, we see winners and losers. But the spiritual and relational work of democracy happens in the conversations we're too distracted to have.
Long-range weather predictions teach us something important about preparation, uncertainty, and the kind of foresight that actually matters for human flourishing.
In an age of infinite highlights and algorithmic feeds, the slow rhythm of baseball invites us back to presence, patience, and the counterintuitive power of waiting.
Annual Social Security adjustments remind us that human flourishing requires both material provision and the deeper anchors that no cost-of-living formula can capture.
When the jackpot swells and everyone's buying tickets, the real spiritual practice isn't in playing or not playing—it's in what we do with our attention in between.
A sailor's survival story reminds us that our most essential human capacities — resourcefulness, hope, endurance — emerge when technology falls silent.
In a culture that demands we never stop performing, the story of an athlete who walked away and came back reminds us that true strength includes the wisdom to rest.
In a culture that prizes relentless productivity, a simple fever becomes a master class in embodiment — and in trusting our design.
Netflix's recommendation engine promises to surface exactly what we want to see—but in doing so, it quietly reshapes our capacity for genuine discovery and relational connection.
An opening essay on why this blog exists: five domains of humanity, one recurring question, and a refusal to let the tool set the terms.