What is On the Fly?

People often ask me, “So . . . what is On the Fly really about?”

At its heart, On the Fly is about noticing—the small, easily missed moments that quietly shape our lives.

Mission Statement:
On the Fly is dedicated to the art of seeing. Through personal stories, family heritage, travel, music, and creativity, we explore the extraordinary beauty hidden in ordinary days. It’s a reminder that the most meaningful moments in life are rarely planned—they’re discovered on the fly.

Rather than fitting neatly into a single category, this blog lives at the intersections of a few enduring themes:

Mindfulness & The Pause
Many posts—like the Friday Morning Pause or reflections on the Aversion Trap—invite readers to slow down, step away from digital noise, and rediscover silence, wonder, or awe.
Storytelling & Heritage
This blog often returns to family stories and personal history, exploring how memory, place, and the people who came before us shape our sense of home.
Creativity & Music
From the magic of a guitar shop to the discipline of great musicians, On the Fly celebrates the creative process and the quiet joy of making something meaningful.
Travel & Observation
Whether walking the streets of Paris or drifting along the rivers of France, travel becomes a lens for observing patience, connection, and the ways technology both connects—and complicates—human experience.

In short, On the Fly is for the curious and the reflective—for readers who want to look up from their screens, slow down, and rediscover the extraordinary hiding in ordinary moments.

Join me–explore the search feature and discover over 480+ previous episodes.

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A Mother’s Day Reflection

With Mother’s Day here and the world bustling with cards, brunches, and busy schedules, I find myself reflecting on something a bit simpler: taking a moment to remember the person who helped shape my earliest sense of home. Mauricette Elaine (Bontemps) Ball. My Mom. We arrived in Cuba after leaving La Rochelle, France, in 1959—a transition whose enormity I only fully appreciate now. My mother, barely in her mid-twenties, stepped into Midwestern life with remarkable courage. Her smile could warm the coldest Illinois morning, and her hugs lingered long after she let go—quiet reminders that you were deeply loved. Born February 16, 1934, the third of four children, she grew up in Nazi-occupied La Rochelle. As kids, we listened wide-eyed to stories of soldiers patrolling her streets and fear shadowing everyday life. Yet she carried none of that darkness forward. What endured was resilience and an unwavering devotion to family—qualities she carried across the Atlantic and planted firmly in C...

That Fateful Four-Letter Word

In this episode, A Masterclass in Efficiency. For nearly four months, the western border of our property has stood as a living monument to determination, dubious planning, and forensic-level lumber acquisition. Since February, our neighbor Steve has been conducting what can only be described as a masterclass in deliberate calculation. This was never going to be one of those slick home-improvement shows where a cheerful pair of men installs a fence between commercial breaks, sipping lemonade. No. This was real life in retirement. We scaled the vertical wilderness of our hillside. We mixed concrete with the precision of medieval alchemists. We bled, we sweated, and we fought hand-to-hand with a buried tree stump that had the structural integrity of a Cold War bunker. By this week—May 16th, for those keeping score—the glorious end was finally within reach. The fence stood proudly, the line was straight, and victory practically hummed in the air. Only one major task remained: installing t...

Truth for Sale

This episode is inspired by Elton John & Bernie Taupin On Memorial Day, I took my first bike ride since the accident , seeking proof that my legs, lungs, and nerves still remembered the road. The morning air carried that familiar Southern California mix of ocean haze, exhaust, eucalyptus, and sun-baked asphalt. My tires hummed across pavement I’ve ridden for years. Somewhere between the steady click of the chain and the rhythm of my breathing, Elton John and Bernie Taupin’s The Captain and the Kid found its way into my ears. There’s a strange kind of magic when the cadence of a ride syncs perfectly with a song you know by heart. Suddenly, the music and lyrics stop being background noise and become a lens. And through that lens, the road started talking. I've been cycling on this road some, Can't help feeling I've been showing my friends around. I've seen it grow from next to nothing, To a giant eatin’ up our town. Called up the tealeaves and the tarots, Asked the...

The Giants We Chase

In this episode, The Gleam Within We grow up steeped in fairy tales and grand mythologies. From a young age, we are taught to scan the horizon for the hero—the knight, the savior, the titan who will arrive to make sense of the world. We marvel at the mountains' beauty and nature's majesty, yet, as the old wisdom goes, "we pass over the mystery of ourselves without a single thought." I remember being the little guy from a small town in rural Illinois, looking up at the world and seeing only Giants. I would listen to Earl Nightingale’s Our Changing World broadcasts, mesmerized by the towering figures of success and intellect he described. When you feel small, you naturally seek out those Giants for a glimpse of their light—hoping some of it might rub off on you, preferably without having to do whatever it was they did to earn it. In 1985, while I was earning my G.G. credential, I met Richard T. Liddicoat, the Patriarch of GIA. To everyone in the industry, he was the Fat...

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