Sticky Notes - I'm hanging up the gloves.

The Antibes coast is made up of hundreds and hundreds of tiny beaches. These sandy pockets of paradise are only big enough to accommodate one, two, maybe three people at a time and to reach them, you have to climb down from the road with sure-footing, grabbing ahold of exposed tree roots and stone holds until you reach the bottom, where it is flat and the ground, stable.

Looking down into these tiny beaches is like floating over a movie set in Hollywood and watching the rapid changing of scenes from high above.

One man, alone but not lonely is lost in a book held between his outstretched hands, as he sits in a rusty, rickety chair, letting the sea wash over his sun-burnt feet. 

Two lovers cozy up together on an outstretched blanket, sip wine the color of muddled cherries whilst pecking away at cheese, meat and jam.

Three friends doggy paddled out to the ruins of an old lighthouse, climb its tall spiraling staircase and share a joint as their legs dangle over its edge.

Eventually, Kace and I find our own tiny beach, our own movie set, where we remove our shoes and socks and let our soles kiss the road and then the dirt and then the rock and then the sea. And in our nook, we find dozens and dozens of little pieces of luminescent green sea glass as smooth as skin.

It is here where I realize that if you strike a wine bottle against a rock and let its shattered pieces be swept away by the tide, given enough time and enough pummeling, the ocean will transform its jagged edges into something soft, beautiful, glowing and warm.

Sea Glass is a metaphor for our own jagged edges, that with enough time and intentional laboring, we can eventually grind and then sand and then polish them down into something that is not abrasive to the skin but gentle and soothing, like the underbelly of a baby turtle.

One of my own jagged edges that I'm working to make sea glass out of is my propensity to call strangers out online.

For whatever reason, over the past three to four years, I've taken it upon myself to be the patron saint of quality content on platforms like LinkedIn, Twitter and Instagram.

Because of this, I've gotten into a hell of a lot of written fist-fights with what I've considered to be hucksters, impersonators, plagiarizers, thieves, blowhards, braggarts, cowards and snake oil salesmen.

And, in my witch hunt, I've forgotten that a villain to me is not a villain to themself but a hero of their own story.

Two nights ago, I made a smart-ass remark to an entrepreneur who Tweeted he was making a couple million dollars selling weighted blankets. I then put my phone in the other room and by complete happenstance, I decided to turn on the Manti Te'o documentary. 

Two-and-a-half house later, I was in tears watching the closing scene of the documentary, where Manti very candidly shares the devastating effects that the hate, the memes, the gifs, the harassing and the constant teasing has had on his life, his career, his mind and spirit. 

This hit extremely close to home for me as I've, on a much smaller scale, been the brunt of a considerable amount of hate and harassment in some dark corners of the internet and I've felt, first-hand, how deeply those words cut.

All of this made me realize that while I've never subjected anyone to the kind of taunting and hatred that I've experienced in those threads, when I go after people online with an off-the-cuff smart-ass one-liner, I'm hurting them, I'm hurting them, I'm hurting them. 

The world is an extraordinarily difficult place and after quite a bit of reflection, I've decided to hang up my gloves. 

The Great Buddha once said, "Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned."

While I still plan to call to attention in my writing the absurdities that have become commonplace in our culture and write with the same level of passion and no-punches-pulled conviction that I always have, you will never again see me call out someone online. 

It's not worth the burn for them nor for me. 

But, I digress. 

– Cole

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The past couple of months, I've had to hit pause on my physical products (like my poetry books and my brass coins) due to some issues that were, unfortunately, outside of my control.

However, I'm pleased to announce that Honey Copy's delivery owls are back in action and flying better than ever before! Screech.

Here's what's in stock...  

* One Minute, Please?

* After Her.

* Guillotine.

* Let The Tigers Through The Door.

By the way, if you buy a brass coin, I've been known to put some extra goodies in there just because I love ya. 

In a world that’s obsessed with attention, it’s worth asking yourself what you would do if nobody was watching. I’m not talking about "character” but “vocation”.

A lot of folks think they’ve found their calling but what they’ve really found is something that’s garnering them attention.

When the attention inevitably shifts its gaze to another craze, the individual is left feeling empty and lonely as they realize their vocation was never a vocation at all but a parlor trick they were doing for peanuts and applause.

Here’s the thing about parlor tricks: they’re only fun when there is an audience watching. To avoid becoming a clown, it’s worth asking…

What would you do if nobody was watching?

If you’re not familiar with Kevin Kelly’s concept of 1,000 True Fans, here it is in a 24-word nutshell…

“

Build an audience of 1,000 loyal fans who will buy everything you create and you can make a living forever as an independent creator.

”

While I certainly don’t doubt whether or not this is true, in a world where it takes a hell of a lot of work to garner 1,000 decently engaged followers, amassing 1,000 true fans ready to throw money at you at a moment’s notice feels… ambitious.

Fortunately, I think “freedom” can be achieved with a much smaller number.