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The existential question of the ages, amiright? Short version, social media is a cesspool and I needed/wanted somewhere to put all my stuff. So this site is basically a semi-organized conglomerate of things I dig. Back in the late '90s (oof) I had a personal website my dad built for me, hosted on Tripod (those were the days). It was a catch all for my artwork, writing, ruminations, and so on.  I eventually learned to use Microsoft FrontPage and how to view the source code of website's whose design I liked. I didn't at all frequently steal random source code to make my own site look pretty... I would never...

Anyway, that's what this is. The 2020's edition of my old Tripod site (no, I won't link it. Yes, it still exists. Yes, it is cringe). Thank God Google Sites is more user friendly than FrontPage ever was.

Well, if you're here, you probably already know that, but I'll humor you, I guess.

Hi, I'm Connor, your friendly neighborhood curmudgeon (though I've mellowed a bit with time). Most of my time and energy goes into family and parish life, but from time to time I've been known to doodle, write, play music, and wax eloquent about things I know little to nothing about. It should go without saying that all opinions here are mine and do not represent the position of my employer, religious institution, or anyone else.

I am a practicing Catholic formed in the Byzantine tradition, though my family and I currently serve in various capacities at a mission parish of the Personal Ordinariate of the Chair of St. Peter. Some days I'm the spiky ByzCath, some days less so. Most days I'm just a guy trying to follow the Master in the footsteps of the saints and sages who've gone ahead of me. I'll probably write about that a bit.

I live on the side of a mountain in East Tennessee, which in the winter gets almost as cold as my native New England (but not really). Together with my wife, three littles, and two cats, we're trying to cultivate a culture of virtue in the wasteland of post-modernity.

I'm rather attached to a piece of artwork by Scott Erickson (see right), whose artwork I heartily recommend, if not his theology. It spoke to me when I first encountered it some years ago, and it continues to speak to my experience, though my understanding of it has become more nuanced with time. Who knows, perhaps someday it will join my ever-growing collection of tattoos.

The hermit crab is a fragile creature protected by a hard shell it calls home. It spends most of its life digging around for scraps, and from time to time it leaves behind a shell that no longer fits, journeying out into the open in search of one better suited. If it fails to do so, it will die. It is nomadic by necessity, and without the courage to leave comfort and safety behind, the shell that once sheltered it becomes a prison, and the growth that should have been to its benefit crushes it. On the other hand, once it finds a shell that fits, it settles in, digs deep, and makes it a place of rest. Its life is not endless wandering; rootedness is just as necessary as change.

So too with me, I've found. I have to guard against unhealthy attachments to passing things—be they liturgies, devotions, parishes, job situations, or social circles. If God calls me out into the open, so to speak, it is because I will die if I do not. In contrast, one also cannot live in a state of perpetual uprooting. Growth requires both movement and settlement—pilgrimage and homecoming. God calls us sometimes into the open, but also into the shelter of community and vocation where we can rest, be nourished, and cultivate virtue. Should providence shatter my shell, I must not be afraid to move where it leads. And where it leads, I must also not be afraid to make a home.