Sunlit Interlude, Steady Course
Entry No. 47
Dear Faithful Companion,
We returned home on Saturday, the third of January, easing back into familiar routines after two generous weeks in Cuba. The days there unfolded with an ease that is difficult to manufacture elsewhere: warm sun on most mornings, only two days touched by cooler air, and a rhythm governed more by light than by clocks. The weather was kind, but it was the people who made the experience memorable. The staff at the resort carried themselves with warmth, attentiveness, and quiet pride—small gestures of care repeated daily until they formed the backbone of an exceptional stay.
Over the course of the holiday, new friendships emerged naturally—conversations begun by the pool, shared laughter over meals, stories exchanged without urgency. Jesse and I spent most days in the sun, content by the water, punctuating the stillness with moments of exploration: glimpses of local culture, a day aboard a catamaran, salt air and open horizon reminding us how restorative movement can be when it is chosen freely. As is tradition on nearly every vacation, I also managed to acquire a modest sunburn—an annual reminder that optimism often outpaces good judgment, and that one day I may yet learn. Most meaningful of all was the time shared with my parents. Memories were made without effort—unposed, unplanned, and therefore enduring. These are the moments that quietly anchor a life.
Jesse and I have always found deep satisfaction in travel—not as escape, but as enrichment. Experiences, rather than possessions, continue to be what we return to in conversation and in memory. Travel sharpens gratitude, broadens perspective, and reinforces how fortunate we are to share the world together. As Pico Iyer once wrote, “We travel, initially, to lose ourselves; and we travel, next, to find ourselves.” In time away from routine and expectation, the noise recedes, habits loosen their grip, and one is reminded of what endures beneath obligation and schedule. In Cuba, we did a bit of both.
As the year begins in earnest, my thoughts have increasingly turned toward direction. Rest is valuable, but it is purpose that gives rest its meaning. Over the past few weeks, I have been considering what I intend to accomplish in the year ahead—not in vague resolutions, but in clear end states. It is important to set a course, and more important still to remain faithful to it. Goals should be obtainable yet demanding; challenging enough that their completion carries weight, yet realistic enough to invite sustained effort rather than quiet abandonment. Studies consistently show that clearly defined, written goals—particularly those grounded in process rather than outcome alone—are far more likely to be achieved. Discipline thrives on clarity.
The past year offered its lessons plainly. Gratitude must be practised, not assumed. Ambition should be tempered with patience, but never diminished by self-doubt. One should not sell oneself short out of comfort or caution. As this year unfolds, I sense that there is meaningful work ahead—work worth committing to fully. In the coming days, I intend to lay out my aims for the year with simplicity and focus, resisting excess and noise. Fewer goals. Clear intent. Sustained execution.
Verbum Ultimum
Rest reminds us what matters; resolve determines what follows. I return from this interlude grateful for sunlit days, shared laughter, familiar faces, and time spent with those I love—memories both great and small that will long outlast the holiday itself. These moments are not pauses from purpose, but the substance that gives purpose its weight. With gratitude firmly held and direction clearly set, I move forward into the year ahead deliberately, resisting haste, excess, and distraction. The course is chosen, the standard is known, and the work will be met in full measure.
Until next we meet, with ink as my witness and virtue as my guide.
JCB
