Today was weird.
That’s the only honest way to start this. Weird in that sort of “am I floating outside my body?” way. I was up at 4am—not for anything noble or enlightened, just… awake. For no reason. Like my brain was the annoying roommate who slaps the lights on and starts loudly organizing filing cabinets at an ungodly hour. Thanks, brain.
I made oatmeal with raisins. Hydrated like I’d crossed the goddamn Sahara. Wrote for a couple of hours—nothing cohesive, nothing that will win a Pulitzer. It was more like verbal sneezes: half-thoughts, false starts, wandering nonsense. Stream of consciousness? More like a clogged gutter.
Then came the saving grace: an early bike ride around the lake. Before the Texas sun decided to fry every living organism. I pedaled like I had purpose, but if I’m honest, the only goal was to sweat out the confusion and maybe find some peace in the rhythm. Didn’t find peace, exactly. But I did see a turtle, and that felt like something.
Got home. Edited photos. Ran errands. Bought toothpaste, bananas, and a pack of AA batteries that I’m pretty sure I didn’t need. But it felt productive. Felt intentional, even if it was mostly just aimless adulting dressed up in purpose.
And still—I felt scattered. Happy, yes. But flaky. Like a person-shaped croissant.
Been here, in this same state of mind, thousands of times before.
Here’s the thing:
We’re all told we need to be consistent. Focused. Organized. Get your ducks in a row, they say. Have a plan. Work the plan. Optimize the shit out of your life until every minute is milked for ROI.
But what if your ducks are feral?
What if they don’t walk in a row, they fly off one by one, quacking like lunatics, and you’re left just chasing feathers and wondering if maybe this is your version of productivity?
Maybe that’s okay.
I drifted home in a daze. On the way, I passed an antique store—the kind of place where rust and charm collide in a dusty symphony. I wasn’t planning on stopping. But I saw this old sign hanging crooked in the window that read:
“Closed Mondays, Probably.”
That sign spoke to me.
So I pulled over. Walked in. And just started shooting. Photos, not bullets—although that would’ve added some realdrama to this flaky-ass day.
I shot old fishing lures. A one-eyed doll with no clothes. A chipped ceramic chicken who looked like he’d seen some shit. Stacks of forgotten family portraits with names long gone.
And you know what?
That camera roll looks like the inside of my head today. Random. Messy. Slightly haunted. But also… oddly beautiful. Honest. Human.
So here’s my case for being a little flaky:
Creativity doesn’t punch a clock.
Some of your best stuff doesn’t happen on a schedule. It sneaks in sideways on a day when you feel unmoored. When you’re not trying too hard. When you’re not trying at all.
Scatter can be sacred.
Days like this remind me that presence doesn’t always look like focus. Sometimes it looks like following your impulses with a camera, or riding your bike for no good reason, or eating breakfast at 4am and calling it grace.
You don’t have to earn rest, or randomness.
We live in a world that worships hustle. Screw that. You are allowed to drift. To wander. To have no clue what you’re doing and still be worthy of joy.
Your photos don’t need a theme.
I teach this all the time—especially to myself. You don’t need to package everything into a tidy series. Some days, your lens is just a mirror to your mood. And if that mood is chaos, then guess what? You’ve made art out of your own damn confusion.
Mama said there’ll be days like this.
She wasn’t wrong.
Sometimes the most honest photos you take are the ones that make no visual sense—except to you. The crookedness, the color palette, the missed focus, the accidental compositions—they all hum with something true. Something unfinished and weird and alive.
You don’t have to be inspired every day. You don’t have to be optimized, branded, polished, or prolific. Some days, it’s enough to wake up, make some oatmeal, chase your ducks, and duck into an antique store that smells like mildew and nostalgia.
You don’t have to “get your shit together.”
You just have to see.
And sometimes, that’s more than enough.
Click.
That was today.
Tomorrow, I might be focused, linear, driven.
But today?
Today I was all over the damn place.
And it was kind of beautiful.
Click.
Jack.
