All Good Things

Not news to all, but definitely new to some

Hey! When was the last time you had to say goodbye?

The bittersweet space between when one thing ends and another begins. I find that to be a unique position that puts a lot of life into a different perspective.

When traveling, I once called it chasing sunsets — the cracks where we start to see past our own reflection and can almost feel the passage of time as if it were a physical dimension.

Although I may have found more comfort in the crevices than is productive, I still feel that sense of slippage lost in translation when the stars align.

Any pathetic reason I have for connecting these threads rests less on fractured logic and more heavily on dealing with the emotions of seeing that Buildspace is officially shutting down.

(And sending my uncle off to the airport certainly helped plant these ideas of farewells in my head as well.)

None of my stories would have become physical books in the real world without the journey I had with Buildspace. The words you are reading now are only public because Farza gave me the idea to start a Substack as a promotional tool.

The conversation around whether or not that was a good choice is a bet that’s still on the table. All the tells say I’ve anted up and bought a seat with a losing hand. Even with the delusions of grandeur, I’m not convinced it was a bad choice.

We’ll let time judge and perhaps eventually wound all that I’ve healed.

New Friends

Rather than dwelling on a future that has yet come to be the past, I wanted to highlight one of the bonds that has been forged in the fires of all that was Buildspace.

On top of the goodbyes, I also received mail from one of my new friends.

Back when I was writing Besnowed and just starting to (re)learn how to make videos, I wanted to incorporate other people as much as possible. That took the form of using music from the wonderfully talented individuals creating all sorts of tracks around the world.

One such being Shefali and her music I featured in an early video.

She was ecstatic to see me using her song and we started talking about our projects and sharing our struggles. There were more than a few examples of people just like Shefali who I ended up connecting with on the journey to publish my books.

That was the much less public side of Buildspace and something I will deeply miss.

Just looking back at how far I’ve come in regards to writing these posts and recording those videos reminds me of all that I’ve learned.

In and of itself, that is likely a good thing, but it’s unfortunately not manifested into any measure of stability or success. A worrying thought that plagues me every day and leaves me thinking I’ve wasted so much time on something utterly useless and unprofitable.

I mention this not for sympathy or support.

No, this is a personal effort to share my true thoughts. I want to keep this newsletter to its promise of delivering insights into my inner workings — even if they’re hard to write and leave me fearing how they are read.

With that overly wordy explanation, I want to jump into a shorter segment of narration.

I want to keep building and igniting that forge and the future that burns within.

No Place To Go

“In the early morning rain with a dollar in my hand.” I muttered the lyrics to myself as the sun set behind the distant mountains. I lived on that prairie for nearly half my life. The sea of grass and its windy waves painted the feeling of home in my mind.

“I know it’s been a long time since you’ve used any dollars, Sam.” An old friend was visiting. We hadn’t seen each other in over 20 years — maybe it was 30. You lose track between keeping up with the passing seasons.

“It’s just a song.” I leaned forward to respond. We were sitting on a wooden deck I built with my own hands. Actually, Opus built it with me. We used to do handyman work together, before I settled down in my refuge abroad.

“A song only you would know!” Opus laughed and raised his bottle, inviting me to share a toast in our final hours together.

“I thought it was famous.” I smiled and drank my drink, remembering how Dad used to put that record on. Everything was so different now. From the money to the music, the world he taught me about may as well have been another planet.

“Fame dies a quick death these days. You know that well, Sam.” Opus set his bottle down on the wooden arm of the old chair and we fell back into silence as we watched the sun sink in the sky. The wind tempting the leaves into a sacred dance as we enjoyed the silent company of each other.

He wasn’t wrong either. Back where we were from, my name was once renowned — at least for those who cared about our field of work.

The endless negotiations and long hours amounted to a decent payday, but it was a hollow victory. I afforded my exit and left before the storm swept up the losers in the very scheme I used to win.

Some would call me a traitor or a conman, but I just wanted to provide for my family. Opus understood that. He knew I would help him find his own way out if he ever needed or wanted it.

But he never asked.

“Do you remember what you said?” Opus spoke after a few more minutes of silence. The only words exchanged in the interim were found in the fields as we watched the colors bleed into the mountains.

“What I said?”

“When you left, you told me something.”

“I told you I could afford your ticket if you gave me the word.”

“Yeah.” Opus turned to look at me and raised his bottle again. “Maybe I should have taken you up on that offer.”

“The offer’s still on the table.”

“Maybe one day, Sam. Maybe one day.” We left it at that and waited for the night sky to reveal the stars. Opus then joined the whole family for his last supper before leaving back to his home once again.

An evening like the ones we used to share before saying one last final goodbye. I then drove him to the airport where we shared another beer at the bar before he went through security.

“To the time we still have left.” I made an effort to make Opus feel comfortable. The truth was we were getting old and our visits were drifting farther and further apart. We could never say it, but we both knew we were approaching what would one day be our final time together.

“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.” Opus let the stage shine in his eyes as he reminded me of the life we once lived. My fame that was soon forgotten.

“Long live the king.” I took a sip and rolled my eyes, turning my head to check all the scheduled flights. With that subtle act, he was already gone — I was past waiting for my best friend to leave.

By the time I was back on that wooden porch we built together, the sun had long since set. I sat alone on the old rickety chair and sipped my beer as I watched the stars against the horizon. The nature surrounding my home welcomed me and my lonesome fears.

I would truly miss Opus.

Without his aid, I would not have the family and the life I cherish today. My wife understands that and affords me these melodramatic farewells.

She knows well enough that she’ll be calling me to dinner with the children once again tomorrow.

And then we’ll need to get ready for the coming winter.

That’s one of our favorite seasons anyway.

Steps Beyond

I was not going to include a piece of prose this time with how long the initial newsletter was looking, but I thought it would be a good idea to embrace the challenge.

I lose nothing and could gain a better understanding of what you all enjoy from my writing.

All that is lost is the loose feeling that an audience’s attention span cannot handle too much text.

But if you’re ready any of my books, then that obviously isn’t an issue.

I will add a call to action in simply saying, please share this post if you enjoyed it or buy my books if you wish to better support my dreams.

Otherwise, I hope you enjoy your day.

Until next time.

—JMB