I’m sitting here with my cup of cacao, reflecting on today’s I-Ching reading—60, Limitation, and 58, The Joyous. The words stick with me: “Galling limitation must not be persevered in” and “Perseverance is favorable.” It’s a fitting duality for someone like me, juggling the vast potential of the TrueSight DAO and Agroverse project while navigating the very real constraints of time, energy, and resources. And honestly, it’s a mirror to my life as a nomad out here in the desert—knowing when to set boundaries and when to let joy lead the way. If you’re curious about the full reading or want to cast your own, check it out here: TrueSight Oracle.
Every morning, after meditation and reciting sutras, I sit down for my I-Ching reading and daily blog post. It’s not just ritual—it’s a deliberate space to ground myself. There are a million shiny objects vying for my attention, rabbit holes that can swallow an entire day before I even realize it. So, I force myself to narrow it down: What are the top three things I should focus on today? What has the highest impact for Agroverse or TrueSight DAO? It’s a battle against distraction, and some days, I’m not sure I win.
Take yesterday, for instance. The clouds were overcast, my solar battery was nearly dead, and I couldn’t do much on my laptop. So, I hopped over to Zibo’s place when he invited me to ride along in his truck to visit some nomad camps out here in the desert. We picked up Cheetarah and Josh, and off we went. One stop was at Ray’s camp, where the conversation turned to the social dynamics of nomad life. Ray mentioned how another nomad had blocked her and her friends, and Cheetarah chimed in with a hard-earned truth: after a few winters, you figure out who belongs in your inner circle. Ray added that it’s tough—you start open by default, but that openness can invite drama. Cheetarah then said something that hit close to home. She pointed out how, after camping with people, you get to know them almost too well. Then, with a sly grin, she turned to me: “Gary’s been hanging with us for four winters, but he never camps with us. He always sets up a ways away and just graces us with his presence.” I laughed—couldn’t help it. Her observation was sharp, and I didn’t argue.
It’s not the first time I’ve heard this. Aaliyah, up in Oregon, said something similar—that I hang around just long enough to connect but not long enough to cause damage. Butterfly, who hosts the Boondocker Bash, called me “flighty.” Jerry, a buddy from the San Francisco Bay Area, framed it differently, saying I’m considerate, always leaving space for others without getting in the way. I’ve thought about this a lot. There’s an old saying, “Familiarity breeds contempt,” and history—my own included—seems to back that up. So why tempt fate? I keep my presence scarce, selectively available. It’s partly to manage how others perceive me in these networks, but more importantly, it’s to carve out precious time for my priorities, like building Agroverse.
Later, we rolled into the Beer Garden in Quartzsite, Arizona. Cheetarah, nursing a knee injury from a fall off her bus deck, sat at a low chair at the next table while the rest of us took the high chairs. Zibo couldn’t resist joking about how long it’d take for some guy to hit on her, sitting there alone. He tried to goad us into placing bets, and we all cracked up. But then the conversation took a turn—Cheetarah brought up a female nomad who apparently had a crush on both Josh and me. She teased that quite a few folks out here have had their eye on me. I felt the heat of the spotlight and tried to deflect. “Look, I’m not around long enough to get involved with anyone,” I said. “If this were a dating app, I’d tell them to swipe left without a second thought.” We laughed, moved on, but in my head, I was firm. Dating apps? Waste of time. And historically, getting entangled in romance just derails focus from what matters—Agroverse, the distribution network. Plus, from a strategic angle, the nomadic network is more valuable to me intact than fractured. I’ve seen what happens when folks pair up and split—sides form, networks splinter. I take the Singapore approach: stay diplomatic, choose both sides, and never mention the other when I’m with one.
We ended the day at Skooliepalooza, stopping by Matt’s camp with his Pirate Bus setup. Josh and Cheetarah got caught up in their own conversation, leaving me and Matt chilling on a sofa he’d set out in the desert. After a quiet moment, Matt turned to me. He’d been following my adventures on Facebook, he said, and was impressed. Then he added something unexpected: of all the nomads he knows, I’m the only one no one badmouths behind my back. Apparently, folks only have good things to say—about my intelligence, my kindness. It caught me off guard. I wonder sometimes if I’m wired differently—maybe on the autistic spectrum, or at least misreading myself. I’ve dug into this with AI tools, and it seems what I’ve got is more cognitive empathy than affective. I can read emotions, but I don’t always feel them myself. Not sure what the exact term is—go figure.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been pegged as hard to read. Back at my old company, an engineer I managed said over dinner, “Gary, you’ve got so many layers of logic. I can’t get to you emotionally. Does everything have to be so transactional?” Aaliyah, in a phone call, threw out a heavier label—antisocial disorder, or psychopathic. She laughed, saying those types are the hardest to detect because they mask so well. I just chuckled along. And then there’s Jeri, who mentioned a convo with Vibhu, our old boss, who said I had a knack for squeezing every drop of productivity out of engineers without them resenting me—unlike other managers who’d have sparked a revolt by then.
Key observation: The human mind is a pattern recognition machine. Prompt it, and it’ll dig up anything to back a theory. I don’t know if I’m flighty, considerate, or just emotionally walled off. Maybe it’s all true—or none of it. But I do know this: limitations, like the I-Ching says, can’t be persevered in forever. I set boundaries to protect my focus, my network, my work. And joy? It’s in the small moments—laughing at the Beer Garden, chilling on a desert sofa, hearing I’m not the villain in anyone’s story. Perseverance in that joy feels right.
So, what about you—how do you balance limitations and joy in your own life? Where do you draw the line to protect your time, and where do you let connection in?
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