Thomtr

Freshwater Conch | *Sprinting on Saltwater* — 1960s Key West boyhood adventures 🌊
Barracudas, BB guns & the day I walked on water. 📖 Link in bio

[Thomtr @thomtr]

The Same Moon

With last night’s Lunar Eclipse, there's an old comfort in knowing the moon doesn't belong to any one place. Wherever I've stood, like at a dock in Key West as a boy, a porch decades later, some unfamiliar town at the end of a long day. It’s always been the same moon, just leaning at a different angle, like it followed me there on purpose. I think that's why we look up at it when we miss someone. Not because the moon can do anything about the missing, but because it's the one thing we know for certain they saw too. The same pale light on the water. The same quiet that kept watch over whatever they were carrying that night.

Somehow that's enough to close the distance a little with the idea that grief and love and hope have all, at some point, been standing under the exact same sky. My dad used to point out the stars like he had a personal stake in each one, but the moon he'd just nod at, like an old friend he didn't need to explain. I understand that now. Some things don't need pointing out. They just need to be noticed, quietly, the way you notice someone's still there even after they've gone.

So if tonight you're missing someone, or just missing who you used to be, go on and look up. That's the same moon that looked down on every year you're grieving and every year you're grateful for. It was there for all of it. As a matter of fact It's still there now, keeping the same patient watch, waiting for you to remember you were never really under it alone.

[Thomtr @thomtr]

Over The Rainbow

Many renditions of this timeless classic. There's a reason that song has outlived nearly everyone who ever sang it. It never actually promised you the rainbow. It just promised you that somewhere, past the gray and the flat horizon of an ordinary day, there's a place where the color comes back on. That's a different kind of promise — not that life gets easy, but that it gets bigger than whatever's got you stuck on the porch waiting for the storms to pass.

I think that's why the girl in that story had to get swept up in a storm before she found it. Nobody wanders into somewhere-over-the-rainbow on a calm Tuesday. It usually takes the roof coming off your life a little before you're willing to believe there's more waiting past the clouds than what you can already see from your own backyard.

And funny enough, she wasn't looking for a stranger to save her. She picked up a scarecrow who already had the sense he swore he didn't, a tin man who'd been tender all along, a lion braver than he ever gave himself credit for. None of them needed fixing. They needed a friend willing to walk beside them long enough to notice what was true the whole time.

That's the part I hold onto. Not the ruby slippers. Not the wizard behind the curtain who turned out to be just a man doing his best with smoke and mirrors. The part where she learns that the people who walked the road with her were the magic, and the home she was aching for had been carried in her the entire time.

So if you're standing in your own gray field tonight, wondering if the color ever comes back — it does. It always does. And you won't find it by waiting for a wizard. You'll find it the way she did: by taking the next step down the road with whoever's brave enough to walk it with you, until one day you look up and realize you were never far from home at all. You were just finally ready to see it in color.

[Thomtr @thomtr]

@DavidKasmanArt @petersarmas Like the butterfly, we may never know what lifts our wings… yet the joy of flying beside those few who truly see us makes every moment free enough. 🦋

[Thomtr @thomtr]

What Was I Made For

Somewhere between the bedsheet fort and the mortgage payment, most of us quietly agree to stop believing in magic. We fold up the cape, put away the flashlight, and tell ourselves that was just a phase — cute, but not real. I want to tell you it never stopped being real. We just stopped looking for it in the right places.

Magic was never the wand or the wizard behind the curtain. It was a firefly caught in a jar on a summer night, glowing for no reason except that it could. It was a butterfly that never once worried whether anyone saw it fly, because flying was the whole point, not the audience. It was the tide going out and somehow always, always coming back in, bringing you something new to find in the sand. It was a star you couldn't see anymore, still burning exactly as bright, just waiting on the dark to be honest with you again.

If you look close, the whole world is still built like a fairy tale that never wrapped up. The moon still follows you home like it did when you were seven. Somewhere, a fort is still standing in someone's imagination, defended by knights no taller than a thumb. The rainbow still shows up after the worst of the storm, right on schedule, like it made a promise a long time ago and never once broke it.

The trick was never getting the magic back. The trick was noticing you were still standing in it the whole time — right up until that ordinary day when you finally looked.

So here's what I know, after all the fireflies and all the storms: you were not made to just get through this life. You were made to be amazed by it, on purpose, on the hard days especially. Keep the wonder. Keep believing the tide comes back, the stars are still there, the fort still counts. Because one day, long after you're gone, someone you loved is going to look up at a sky, or a firefly, or a rainbow after the rain, and feel you standing right beside them again. That's not whimsy. That's the realest magic there is. And it was never a phase. It was always the point.

[Thomtr @thomtr]

🎉 It's LIVE! Sprinting on Saltwater is officially available on Amazon and I couldn't be more excited to share it with you! 🌊

This is my memoir — a boy, a small island called Key West at the end of a long road, and a life full of stories I've been waiting to tell. From the sea pools of Cayo Hueso to lessons learned at my father's restaurant, it's all in there.

If you love stories about family, adventure, and growing up in a place unlike anywhere else on earth — this one's for you. Grab your copy today! 👇

https://t.co/dD3NKJ25VA

#SprintingOnSaltwater #KeyWest #NewBook #Memoir #MustRead

[Thomtr @thomtr]

“Leap of Faith”

Every day, every year, we keep searching.
Room after room, corner after corner, place after place, searching for those answers. Answers, to fill that hole of questions that seems to have no end in site, that persistent, hollow ache of unanswered questions.

No amount of science, no perfect chain of logic, no matter how fiercely we wield them, can resolve this quandary. Questions that simply refuse to be solved from the outside.

And yet… sometimes, in the quiet middle of our searching, something shifts.
Not because the final proof arrived, but because we dared to stop demanding proof.

In that suspended moment, when the mind grows still and the heart takes the risk the hole doesn't so much get filled as it becomes something else entirely:
a place where a small, trembling seed of faith is planted.

And suddenly the questions are no longer screaming to be answered.
They become soil. And from that soil, something living begins to grow.

That quiet, terrifying, beautiful step…the one taken without any guarantee, without a map to guide us, that unquestionable….Leap of Faith!

[Thomtr @thomtr]

Just Click Next:

Our memories—those cherished moments we collect over time—seem to gather in a small, ever-expanding box. With each passing day, as the world spins on its great blue axis, this box grows, capturing fleeting glimpses of life with every tick of time. It reminds me of when I was young, playing with a View-Master, that red plastic toy with its wheel-shaped disk. Each click revealed a new 3D scene—perhaps the vast edge of the Grand Canyon or the winding beauty of the Blue Ridge Parkway. Silly as it sounds, that’s how I see my memories: vivid snapshots trapped in that little box, each one springing to life with a click.

They say it’s not what you look at that matters, but what you see. For me, I’m peering into one of those 3D images, frozen in time yet brimming with feeling. Oh, how wonderful it would be to slip in a new paper disk and revisit each memory with a simple click. We may never fully unlock every image in that box, but we can cherish the good times and hold tight to what matters most, adding new moments to that ever-growing collection with each turn of the wheel.

As each moment unfurls, with each click of the wheel we may linger in those cherished memories, or embrace the present, savoring the view and just click next!

[Thomtr @thomtr]

Grok 4 is amazing, old photo of my dad’s baseball team in AKRON, OH… @elonmusk

[Thomtr @thomtr]

Those elusive fireflies

Who can forget those tiny fireflies from our childhood, flickering like sparks of magic filled with joyful memories? As a kid, I’d chase them through the twilight, their soft glow enchanting summer nights. Now, those moments return unexpectedly, like fireflies dancing in the dark, illuminating my mind with warmth.

Recalling these memories feels like a playful game of hide-and-seek. Each one glimmers briefly, a fleeting spark that whisks me back to carefree, happy times.

We yearn to hold onto these glowing moments, to weave them into every fabric of our daily lives. But like fireflies, they’re elusive, slipping through our fingers like grains of sand. Yet their gentle light endures, etched in our hearts, casting a timeless glow that transforms the ordinary into something truly magical.

[Thomtr @thomtr]

As another Thanksgiving dawns upon us, we're reminded of the flame that flickers within each of us—a beacon of hope, a dance of light that represents our aspirations and the beautiful tapestry of our lives. This light, glowing with the memories we've accumulated over time, is what we all bring to the Thanksgiving table.

We gather around, not just for the feast of food, but for the feast of memories—moments that might be tinged with both joy and a hint of melancholy. These are the sweet echoes of laughter from past gatherings, the warmth of embraces from loved ones, the sight of family and friends welcoming us with open arms and radiant smiles. These memories, like the flame, dance with life, illuminating our past and guiding us into our future.

I give thanks for the traditions that has brought us together for over multiple decades, a tradition that has become the cornerstone of our togetherness. Each year, as we sit around the table, we reminisce about the footsteps that have walked this path before us, the loving figures whose smiles are now memories, and the hands that once offered comfort.

These memories, they are not just fleeting moments but are etched deeply into our souls. They are the light that continues to burn brightly, even in the absence of those who lit it. The flame dances on in our hearts, reminding us of the love, the laughter, the dreams, and the bonds that have been formed through each Thanksgiving past.

This thanksgiving day, we give thanks for the hope that persists, for the faith that has been passed down, and for the belief that no matter what, we can pursue our dreams. We honor the flickering flame that has touched our lives, a symbol of the love and memories that will remain with us forever, warming our hearts with every dance of light.

So, as we share this Thanksgiving, let us toast to those who have gone, to those who are here, and to the dreams yet to be realized. Here's to crafting new memories that will one day be as cherished and be just as bright, as the flames that dance in our hearts today.

[Thomtr @thomtr]

Ah, the times that twinkled like stars in the night sky of yesteryear...

I recall a whimsical age where telephones were not just devices but quaint fixtures, dangling from kitchen walls or perched on end tables, never venturing further than the length of their curly cords. Back then, blackberries and apples were simply delightful treats from nature's bounty, not gadgets. And the only "wireless" communication I carried was a shiny little dime, a magic coin that promised connectivity in the clink of a payphone.

Oh, how the world has twirled! Now, a forgotten phone at home sends us into a tizzy, as if we've misplaced our very shadow. Those were the days when doors could be left unlocked with no more danger than a neighbor borrowing sugar, and air conditioning was a lavish whisper in the homes of the wealthy. Children frolicked in the outdoors, their laughter mingling with the breeze, and our window to the world was a modest 9-inch black and white television or a crackling radio, where news was not an instant affair but a story told at its own leisurely pace.

Yes, time has waltzed through these past years, and we sometimes yearn for the echo of those simpler refrains. But alas, we cannot reverse the dance of time. Yet, in every heartbeat, we carry forward the rhythm of those days, blending it with the new tunes of today. With each step into the future, we weave the cherished threads of the past into the tapestry of now, creating a melody of life that celebrates both the times that were and the moments that are yet to come.

[Thomtr @thomtr]

**Imagine, Dream, Believe**

Once upon a time, in the realm of childhood, the world was a canvas painted with the brushstrokes of wonder. Remember those magical sleepovers? With sheets transformed into majestic fortresses, held aloft by whatever magical sticks or books we could muster, we became architects of whimsy. Flashlights in hand, whispering secrets in the dark, careful not to wake the slumbering giants—our parents—just down the hall.

In these forts, we were not mere children but gallant knights and noble queens, defending our realms from dragons with comic book scales and soldiers standing no taller than a thumb. Tea parties with the Mad Hatter and the perennially tardy Rabbit were daily affairs, where the time was always peculiar, and the tea was made of stardust.

Our imaginations were wings, letting us soar like Superman, invincible in our play, lost in worlds of our own creation until that inevitable call from reality—our names shouted down the corridor, signaling the end of our enchanted evening.

Now, as we've grown, perhaps we still feel young at heart, yet Christopher Robin's tales have begun to fade, and Pooh Bear has wandered back into the Hundred Acre Wood. Life's riddles have us playing the Mad Hatter, perpetually questioning, while we chase the elusive Rabbit of time into the depths of the unknown. We take one pill for joy, another to forget, and sometimes, there's that one we can't swallow—when hope seems but a whisper.

Yet, in those moments, a sprinkle of faith, a touch of that spiritualized imagination, rekindles our inner light. That fort of our youth, now supported by pillars of belief, stands taller. With the power of imagination, we are limitless, catching fleeting glimpses of futures yet to unfold, embarking on new adventures of discovery, seeing with eyes anew. Reminding us of the first journey, lit by the lanterns of our minds, guiding us through the darkness, back to the wonder where it all began. With the renewed creativity,
**to Imagine, to Dream, to Believe!**

[Thomtr @thomtr]

Softly on our mind...

We set out as drifters, eager to explore the world, armed with road maps and the expectations of a lifetime. Our hopes and dreams, carefully stowed away in our pockets, accompany us as we embark on the tour of life's adventures. With minds as clear as the open skies, we tune into the sweet melodies of our journeys—melodies that capture both the bitter and the sweet, etching deep grooves into the ever-spinning record of our existence.

These harmonies sometimes skip a beat, forcing us to swerve from the blinding lights of unforeseen challenges, leaving behind bruises and scars. Yet, time never stops for no one, and we learn to navigate its relentless flow. Adjusting our course, settling in once again with our hands slowly move up and down through the fast-moving breeze of time, catching a glimpse of those gentle winds of memories that rush over the bow of our voyage.

As we sail through life, the rivers of time flow with a gentle persistence, carving paths through the landscapes of our memories. Each ripple, each quiet eddy, whispers tales of our journey—tales of love, loss, adventure, and discovery. These stories, etched softly on my mind, become the lullabies that soothe the soul in quiet moments, and the anthems that stir the heart in times of change. They remind us that every moment, every breath, is part of a symphony composed by the hands of fate and our own daring spirits. Thus, we navigate the currents of existence, not just as travelers, but as composers of our own destiny, with each sweet melody that will play softly on our mind.

[Thomtr @thomtr]

Just Beyond the Next Bend….

Who can truly predict where our journey will lead? Each step we take is not just a movement forward; it's an act of creation, paving a unique path through the wilderness of life. The seeds we plant along this journey, the efforts we invest in cultivating our dreams and relationships, these are not mere actions but the very essence of our life's garden.

In this garden, every choice we make, every path we tread, might sometimes seem unnoticed or undervalued. Yet, before you rush into the next phase, take a moment. Pause. Let your gaze wander over the verdant landscape you've helped to create. Appreciate the blooms, the growth, and even the wild patches, for they all tell a story of your journey.

Cling to your faith like a steadfast anchor in the storm, and keep those who matter most by your side. Life's path is winding, and the future is often shrouded in mystery. But remember, beyond every bend, there's a new chapter waiting, filled with possibilities we've yet to imagine. So, as you take those next steps into the unknown, do so with a heart full of hope and a spirit ready for whatever adventures lie ahead. Just beyond the next bend, with all those steps yet taken.