Fred Aiken Writing

Tag: dailyprompt

July 8, 2024

gone fishin’//into the future

Daily writing prompt
What are you most excited about for the future?
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I’m looking forward to having the freedom to explore my passions and interests without the constraints of a 9-to-5 job. Imagine waking up each day with the possibility of doing something you love—whether it’s traveling, spending more time with family, pursuing hobbies, or even starting a small business just for fun. The idea of having the time to truly live life on my own terms is incredibly appealing.

Of course, financial stability is a big part of the equation. I’m actively working on building a solid retirement fund to ensure that when the time comes, I can enjoy my retirement without financial worries. It’s about striking the right balance between living for today and planning for tomorrow.

But I’m hoping to not be annoying about my investment strategy. Nothing like Wallstreetbets or a hedge fund manager, but rather just someone that consistently doesn’t spend money on things I don’t need, but rather puts it away in a savings and/or retirement account. I think my favorite thing to invest in is bonds. Not you junk, corporate type bonds. But rather those grade A, always going to pay a consistent percentage more type of bond. I also like bonds as an investment strategy because when you tell someone you’re buying a bond, it doesn’t lead to a vast amount of questions about why you’re buying those bonds, and in fact is an easy way to get out of a conversation you don’t want to be in. Try it next time you’re in a conversation you find annoying. Just mention the fact that you are thinking about buying government bonds(it doesn’t matter which government), and that will immediately end the conversation.

I suppose healthcare is another consideration for the future. Staying healthy and active is crucial for making the most out of retirement. I plan to prioritize my well-being, embracing a lifestyle that includes regular exercise, a balanced diet, and regular check-ups. At least in theory.

I probably fall short of taking care of my health as I would like most days. I tend to forget to get an annual physical done for reasons that are usually not sufficient. I still eat way too much sugar and processed foods due to how easy and accessible they are. And it doesn’t help that I don’t particularly like cooking. It’s not like I won’t cook. I will still make my own food rather than go out to eat, especially rather than going out to fast food. But I would definitely take a wild guess that most doctors would still classify my diet and eating habits as being the dreaded ‘room for improvement’.

But I suppose it’s all about making strides for improvement when it comes to personal health, both physically and mentally. Compared to my health in the late teens and early twenties, I know I’ve definitely gotten better. Unfortunately, I used to smoke, drink, and consume quite a bit of energy drinks. All of which I stopped doing when I turned 25 because I could no longer justify the shitty feeling I had whenever I woke up from doing those things. Granted, I didn’t immediately quit cold turkey, but rather it was a slow process of weaning myself off of each of them over the course of several months.

Though the part of caring for my health that I dislike the most is exercise. I know that it can improve serotonin levels and is good for the body. But it’s the part of health and caring for oneself that feels the most like work, and I have kinda gotten to the point where I really dislike working. So, I tend to do exercises that are the least impactful or strenuous, like walking or stretching. Sure, they won’t get me Hemsworth-like ripped, but I don’t want to look like that either way. I just want to be able to have basic mobility and physical functionality in my seventies without everything hurting all that time.

If you were to ask me what specifically I want to do when I finally retire, I would either have a whole list of activities or hobbies for you, or I would shrug and tell you that I have no clue. I suppose it just depends on the day, week, or month that you ask me. I know I will definitely be reading, but I already do plenty of that already. I would have more time to watch more movies, which would be nice. I might even paint, which I haven’t done on a regular basis since I was a teenager. So, sure, I might not have a definitive plan as to what I will do with my time in retirement, but I suppose I have time, you know, to figure it out.

Ultimately, I look forward to the opportunity to reflect on my life, cherish the moments, and create new memories. Retirement, to me, is not just about stepping away from work; it’s about stepping into a new chapter full of possibilities and experiences. While the future is uncertain and plans may change, the excitement of what lies ahead keeps me motivated and optimistic.

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July 6, 2024

music in the trunk of a car

Daily writing prompt
What is your favorite genre of music?
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I think that would depend largely on my mood. I enjoy a wide range of music, from classical to hair metal, nu-metal, hip-hop, R&B, folk, and pretty much anything in between. I don’t really think I would classify one particular genre as being my favorite over another, but my choice on which to listen to would largely depend on what I’m doing, how I’m feeling at the moment, and whether or not I’ve heard the song and/or genre a bit too much, since over-listening to a particular song within a particular genre can be its own torture.

For instance, when I’m working on a particularly challenging project, I might reach for classical music—something like Bach’s “Goldberg Variations” played by Glenn Gould. The precision and complexity of the music create a sort of mental order amidst the chaos of my tasks. Gould’s fingers dancing over the keys are like an intricate ballet, a cerebral massage that eases my mind into focus.

On the other hand, when I’m driving late at night, nothing beats the raw energy of hair metal. There’s something liberating about blasting Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me” with the windows down, feeling the wind whip through my hair. It’s as if the unapologetic excess of the ’80s is propelling me forward, urging me to embrace a sense of carefree rebellion, if only for a few minutes.

Then there are those introspective moments, the ones where I need to retreat into my thoughts and sift through the complexities of life. Folk music becomes my companion here, particularly the melancholic strumming of Nick Drake. His “Pink Moon” album is like an old friend, whispering secrets and sorrows, helping me navigate the labyrinth of my own emotions.

Hip-hop and R&B have their own special places too. When I need to feel grounded, connected to the pulse of the present, I turn to artists like Kendrick Lamar. His album “To Pimp a Butterfly” is a tour de force of lyrical prowess and social commentary, a modern-day odyssey that challenges me to confront uncomfortable truths while getting lost in its rhythmic genius.

And then there’s nu-metal. A genre often maligned, but to me, it’s a guilty pleasure that I don’t feel guilty about at all. Bands like Linkin Park and Korn bring a visceral catharsis that’s unparalleled. The fusion of heavy guitar riffs with hip-hop beats and angst-ridden lyrics speaks to the dissonant, rebellious teenager that still resides somewhere within me. They were the bands and song of my youth, so that emo-sounding, yelling-singing that often comes across as whining brings back a sense of nostalgia from time to time.

The eclectic nature of my musical tastes reflects the varied tapestry of my life. There’s no single genre that could encapsulate all my experiences, moods, and aspirations. Music, in its many forms, provides a soundtrack to my existence, each genre a different shade on the palette of my daily life.

So, I suppose I probably answer exactly one specific genre of music as being my favorite of all. It’s the genre that matches the moment. It’s the one that resonates with the beat of my heart at any given time, the one that understands my unspoken thoughts and amplifies my unexpressed emotions. It’s ever-changing.

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July 5, 2024

flat (as a pancake) destinations

Daily writing prompt
Describe your most memorable vacation.
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The summer I turned twelve, my parents decided we needed an adventure, something off the beaten path. They chose the desolate, windswept expanse of the Bonneville Salt Flats in Utah, a place where the earth stretched out like a mirror, reflecting the sky’s endless blue. Most kids at school had gone to Disneyland or tropical beaches, but my parents were artists, of a sort, and their idea of a memorable vacation was more… unconventional.

We arrived in our old, beat-up station wagon that still hadn’t been paid off despite being older than me, packed with camping gear and an assortment of art supplies. The landscape was alien, a vast, shimmering white desert that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. The sun hung high, a merciless overseer, casting long, stark shadows that exaggerated every contour of the terrain.

For the first few hours, I was convinced we were lost. My parents, however, were ecstatic. My mother, a painter, saw the endless white as a canvas, while my father, a sculptor, envisioned grand installations that would interact with the horizon. They set up their easels and tools with the enthusiasm of pioneers discovering a new world.

I wandered away, feeling the crunch of salt under my sneakers, the air crisp and dry. The flatness was deceptive. Occasionally, I stumbled upon small pools of brine, their surfaces smooth and glassy, reflecting the sky perfectly. I imagined they were portals to another dimension, places where reality was bent and reshaped.

The first night, we camped under a sky so clear it felt like we were adrift in space. Stars crowded every inch of the sky, and the Milky Way arched overhead like a cosmic bridge. My parents set up a bonfire, and we huddled around it, the flames casting flickering shadows on our faces. My mother sketched by firelight, capturing the surreal landscape on paper, while my father carved small sculptures from the blocks of salt he had brought along.

The next day, we explored further. My parents had planned a series of art projects, but they encouraged me to find my own way to engage with the land. I took my camera, an old film model my dad had given me, and set off on my own.

I spent hours photographing the subtle variations in the landscape—the ripples in the salt where the wind had blown, the tiny crystals that formed intricate patterns, and the distant mountains that framed the horizon like the edges of a grand painting. There was a stillness to the place, a silence so profound it felt like the world had stopped turning. It was in this silence that I felt something shift within me, a sense of peace and wonder I had never experienced before.

One afternoon, I stumbled upon a patch of earth where the salt had cracked and split, revealing the clay beneath. It was here that I decided to create my own art. I spent hours digging and shaping, using the clay to form small sculptures of animals and mythical creatures. I arranged them in a circle, a tiny community in the middle of the vast expanse. When I was done, I stood back and admired my work, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment.

As the days passed, the Salt Flats became our playground and our studio. My parents created their own masterpieces, but it was my little clay village that captured their attention. My father was particularly impressed, and he spent hours photographing it from different angles, capturing the way the light played on the sculptures at various times of the day.

On our last night, we held an impromptu exhibition. We arranged all our artworks around the campsite, lit by the golden glow of the setting sun. My parents’ paintings and sculptures, my photographs, and my clay figures—each piece told a story of our time in this otherworldly place. We invited the few other campers we had encountered to join us, and they walked among our creations, admiring and asking questions. It was a small, intimate gathering, but it felt significant.

As we packed up to leave the next morning, I took one last look at the Salt Flats. I felt a pang of sadness, but also a deep sense of gratitude. This strange, beautiful place had given me more than just a memorable vacation; it had sparked something within me, a desire to see the world through different eyes, to find beauty in the unexpected.

Years later, when people ask about my most memorable vacation, they expect tales of exotic beaches or bustling cities. Instead, I tell them about the Bonneville Salt Flats, a place where the earth meets the sky in an endless tapestry that seems to encompass infinity. I usually don’t get many follow questions about it, though.

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