Sometimes it feels like everybody is in a rush to do nothing and things change too fast for me to really see them happen or think about what they mean. I think that's a big part of why I want to live in a treehouse on some land. I just want to watch the sun come up and go down and come up and go down and maybe, if possible, find time to do something in between.
Liberty Hill is a small town, and the shooting range out there is just stretches of dirt with a few tables and target stands, and there are goats running along the side of the property, and the range officer is an old, slow, easy-laughing guy who likes to stop and talk about simple things, with simple words. The woman running the shop is the kind of southern lady that makes you take the bass out of your voice without realizing it, and mind your "ma'am" and "please" more than usual.
I spent a couple of hours with a pistol shooting at tiny circles I printed out on regular office paper. To shoot something that small you have to breathe, and watch that your weight is balanced on the balls of your feet, and relax, and squeeze forward and in, all at the same time with perfect, clear focus on the front sight. To accomplish that, nothing else can be happening in the world. So while I'm out there, nothing does.
I do a lot of complicated work with complicated technology, and I take pride in it, but sometimes I feel I'm out of my true depth. Perhaps what I really need is dirt and goats and sunrises and sunsets, forever, or as near to forever as matters to me.
Liberty Hill is a small town, and the shooting range out there is just stretches of dirt with a few tables and target stands, and there are goats running along the side of the property, and the range officer is an old, slow, easy-laughing guy who likes to stop and talk about simple things, with simple words. The woman running the shop is the kind of southern lady that makes you take the bass out of your voice without realizing it, and mind your "ma'am" and "please" more than usual.
I spent a couple of hours with a pistol shooting at tiny circles I printed out on regular office paper. To shoot something that small you have to breathe, and watch that your weight is balanced on the balls of your feet, and relax, and squeeze forward and in, all at the same time with perfect, clear focus on the front sight. To accomplish that, nothing else can be happening in the world. So while I'm out there, nothing does.
I do a lot of complicated work with complicated technology, and I take pride in it, but sometimes I feel I'm out of my true depth. Perhaps what I really need is dirt and goats and sunrises and sunsets, forever, or as near to forever as matters to me.
