Category Archives: Family

What Are You Running Out Of Time To Do?

“They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself.”― Andy Warhol, The Philosophy of Andy Warhol

“A man who dares to waste one hour of time has not discovered the value of life.”― Charles Darwin, The Life & Letters of Charles Darwin

Hello friend,

I just returned from a wonderful trip with my wife and kids to New York City. After walking across the Brooklyn Bridge, ferrying to the Statue of Liberty, absorbing the sobering power of the 9/11 Museum & Memorial, strolling Central Park, taking in a Broadway show, and gazing out over all of it from the 93^rd floor of a skyscraper, you know what I felt the most when we arrived back home from this grand adventure?

RELIEF.

Yes, relief. Not because it was stressful to lead three people around a massive and hectic (and stinky) city they knew nothing about. Not because I needed to be sure two teenagers stayed entertained and as minimally teenagerish as possible. Not because we got stuck there two extra days with a dwindling supply of money and clean clothes (and perhaps patience). And not even because I am not a big fan of crowds and airplane travel. No, I felt this overwhelming sense of relief after the trip simply because we finally had a major family memory imprinted on us for life.

You see, I’m running out of time. My kids just turned 16 and 14 and I am beginning to freak out about losing them to adulthood and faraway lands and significant others. It’s not just that I love this fatherhood thing so much and can’t imagine how I will go on without them around every day—though that part is truly killing me—but rather that I feel this intense need for them to take with them out into the world the most beautiful and heart-warming memories about their childhoods. I just don’t have any time left to waste.

If another whole Summer had passed without a serious core-memory-maker for my kids, I don’t think I could have managed my disappointment in myself. It had been weighing on me for what felt like forever. I like the idea of providing them with a unique Summer adventure that they will remember forever. I think, memory-wise, it makes for a nice complement to annual destinations that they can count on. So I have been quite disciplined about doing ritual family trips to visit family at lakes in Minnesota, beaches in Florida, and frozen tundras in North Dakota. And I had been on the hunt for another grand outlier.

I love that when I look back to the halcyon days of my youth, I can say things like, “We always went to my cousin’s rustic cabin at the lake in the Summer,” or, “We always stayed at my grandparents’ house on weekends.” Honestly, I don’t have a clue how often we were really there, but the way it imprinted on my mind at that age, it felt like we were always taking those visits. The thought brings a smile to my face, no matter how accurate it is.

Complementing those regular trips to the town two hours away where my parents grew up and all of my extended family seemed to live, my mind clings to the idea of a couple of big Summer road trips we took with my Mom in the family van during my elementary school years. One was to Nashville and one was to Boston. My Dad had a convention and would fly into the city, leaving my poor Mom to command the traveling circus of five kids across the country, hopped up on Coke (Mom) and Mello Yello (kids). FIVE KIDS! Could she possibly have enjoyed it??? I cannot imagine the stress of managing the five of us in a car going across town, much less the COUNTRY! A small-town lady about five feet tall accustomed to gravel roads or two-lane highways rolling through Chicago, finding campgrounds in the middle of nowhere in the dark of night, and then pulling up to the fancy hotel in downtown Boston with five feral children tumbling out of the car hoping my old man would be there to meet us. It is mind-blowing to me, and I would love to know if she found it worth the headache. But my goodness, when I think back to those trips, even though the specifics are hazy, I have nothing but a happy glow around all of the memories. I am so, so grateful that we did that together as a family while we had the chance.

That happy glow is exactly why I am so pressed to get these core memories formed in my children’s minds. I want them to look back glowingly not just about the ritual family spots but also the signature Summer adventures. Five years ago, when it seemed like they were finally able to really roadtrip (as a verb), we took a giant, 15-day drive out to the mountains and camped in Yellowstone and Glacier National Parks. It was the best! Not realizing how quickly they were going to grow up, I didn’t feel so much urgency to plan the next big one. Finally a couple of years ago, we loaded up the car again for another big one centered around Washington, DC. Again, amazing. So much family bonding and signature memories. Last Summer I surrendered to the idea of doing a trip just with my wife for our 20^th anniversary. While it was so much fun, the unfortunate effect was that it ate up the Summer’s vacation days and dollars.

That set me up for the sudden existential panic that came over me this Spring when I realized that we probably only had two Summers left with the four of us all together. After my pleading with Father Time to stop his wicked game showed no signs of success, it struck me like a slap in the face the urgency to get a major memory-maker on the books. I knew that if I failed to finish this parenting-of-children thing strongly, I would regret it for the rest of my life (which I am also trying to finish strongly, with only slightly less urgency). After months of vague discussions about possible destinations (the Northeast? the Canadian Rockies? the Pacific Northwest?), Summer arrived without anything firm. My panic deepened and added a terrible layer or DREAD. What if we don’t do something the kids will always remember? What if I am not demonstrating to them just how important family and adventures (and family adventures) are? Will they not have their childhoods bathed in that happy glow I still have when I think of mine?

I carried the dread of those questions not just through the booking of the trip but all through the planning. I tried to leave it there, knowing I did my best to plan a great trip for all of us. But I realized when we finally got home that I had carried a bit of the dread with me even across the Brooklyn Bridge, to the Statue of Liberty, through the museums and up Broadway to Central Park, and all the way to the top of the skyscraper. It was only when it was all over and it seemed that everyone had had fun and made good memories that I finally let it go.

For a moment.

Of course, now I am thinking about it again and realizing that Father Time kept playing while we were gone. Now I have even less time to play with my kids and to make magic. I realize that I will feel that Tick-Tick-Tick increasing its speed with each passing month until they are gone. The pressure to both savor every moment and do all of the best stuff with them will only grow. There is no use kidding myself. College is two years from now. I’m on the clock. I better nail this.

This acknowledgment of my stress and dread about the countdown to college and maximizing my time has me thinking about the many forms this curse takes in the course of a lifetime. I suppose most of us feel some version of this urgency to do something before it’s too late.

The biggest regret I can think of from my childhood is not going out for the high school basketball team even though I loved the sport and my friends played. I had been a hockey player through middle school and when I decided to stop that, I secretly fantasized about becoming a basketball player. However, every year from 9^th grade onward, when it came time to try out for the team, I told myself that it was too late, that these kids had been playing since elementary school. No parent or coach ever asked me if I was interested or nudged me to do it, and I took my secret with me all the way through school, all the time pining to play. When I think back to that time, I wasn’t too late in 9^th grade and maybe not in 10^th—I was a good enough athlete to catch right up—but I didn’t believe that. I thought I had missed the deadline for starting and it really ate at me. I think I have been keenly aware of the vanishing nature of time and opportunities ever since.

I think of my kids in high school and their friends, being embarrassed if they got a phone after everyone else or whether they might be the last one to get a girlfriend or boyfriend. I think about couples struggling with fertility, wondering if they are becoming too old to become pregnant or if their future child, however it might arrive, will be embarrassed that its parents are so old. I wonder about the estranged parent who thinks if they wait any longer to reach out, they may never again get a chance to have a relationship with their kids. I think about the person with substance abuse or other mental health problems who may not be able to make it much longer if they don’t ask for help. I wonder about, for all the time I spend thinking about a pivot in my career, at what point it will actually become too late to make one. I often think about my parents, both hovering around 80, wondering how much confidence they have left in their abilities to be adventurous and what things they are urgent to get to before they are truly out of time.

Based on my current trajectory, I cannot imagine that this issue becomes less urgent with age. I understand that we are all built differently and that some things that stress me may not be of much concern to you. It just feels like this is one thing that touches all of our lives at one point or another, and for some of us (me) at all points in our lives. I seem to be constantly aware of Time and how I am using my allotment of it, particularly how much Beauty and Wonder I can squeeze out of what little I have left. There just never seems to be enough for me to do it all.

How about you? At this point in your timeline, what is the thing you feel like you are running out of time to complete? Open up your journal and explore the distance between where you are and where you want to be? How much time would it require to take the steps necessary to get you to that destination? Is it a long process or just a simple step that you have merely been putting off? How big is your window of time for this project? Will it close rapidly? How do you think you would feel if you missed it? Can you live with that? What are the potential upcoming milestone-type events in your life? Marriage? Child-bearing? Relocation? Career change? Divorce? Lifestyle change? Empty nest? Retirement? Loss of mobility? Death? Is it these larger life events that you seem to be racing against when it comes to your To-Do List, or is it more subtle or personal markers? Are there things you feel you need to do before you can feel fulfilled? What is keeping you from taking the necessary steps? Is it money, lack of time, fear, something else? What small thing could you do today that might create momentum in the direction you need to go? In the end of your life, do you think you would regret more trying to get this done and failing, or not trying at all and never knowing whether or not you could have made it happen? Are you willing to live with that regret? How quickly do you believe you can change your situation or the path of your life? Do you feel this urgency increase or decrease the older you get? Leave me a reply and let me know: What are you running out of time to do?

Keep taking steps,

William

P.S. If this topic resonated with you today, please share it with your people. Let’s support each other in becoming the best version of ourselves, one brave act at a time.

P.P.S. If this way of examining your life appeals to you, consider buying my book, Journal of YOU: Uncovering The Beauty That Is Your Truth, at your favorite online retailers. Namaste.

Have You Come To Terms With Your Age?

“It’s paradoxical that the idea of living a long life appeals to everyone, but the idea of getting old doesn’t appeal to anyone.” –Andy Rooney

“How did it get so late so soon?” –Dr. Seuss

“A man who dares to waste one hour of time has not discovered the value of life.” –Charles Darwin

Hello friend,

I just turned 50. I am embarrassed to admit that it was hard for me to type that sentence. I am still not quite there yet. Fifty sounds OLD! Whether it is or isn’t, I will leave that for you to debate. It still sounds that way to me. And I guess I am not yet at that place of acceptance or surrender or whatever you want to call it that will have me agreeing that I am OLD. Because if I agree, what does it say about what I have left in me? Not much time, and even less vigor to do what I need to do it with. I need some time to sit with that one. Sadly (or ironically or something), time is the one thing in short supply here. It is tough turning 50!

I started processing 50 the moment I turned 49. It was the first time I could no longer deny it. At 48, I could still convince myself I was in my mid-forties. Sure, it was a stretch, but I was in the mood for a stretch at that point. When 49 came around, though, that was it. I started telling myself I was already 50 just to get used to the idea. I guess I wanted to soften the blow, to normalize the whole concept of being in my fifties. I said it over and over. I could tell it wasn’t really sinking in, though.

I blame my grandparents and my great-uncles and great-aunts. My Mom’s parents, as was common back then, married in their early twenties and started having kids. My Grandma had two sisters, and the three of them and their husbands were the best of friends and hung out together–though they called it “visiting,” which makes me smile now to remember, as they are all gone from this world except for these beautiful memories–as often as they could. They were all great to us kids, and I loved them. But they were definitely OLD to me. They had things like false teeth and canes and pipes—genuine Old People stuff. But they were in their fifties! At least when I got to know them they were. I’m sure they had jobs and mowed their yards and built stuff. You know, regular adult activities, not senile, nursing home activities. None of that registered to me, though. They were OLD. Period. End of story. I think that first impression of fifty-somethings being OLD really stuck. I didn’t expect to ever get that old, but if I were to get there, then surely I would be OLD, too. It’s logical.

Well, here I am. Fifty-something.

Getting over the sound of it is one thing. That will take its own time. And hey, that’s the silly, unimportant part of this process. The much more salient part for me is to figure out what being 50 years into my life means. In essence, it puts the spotlight on the question: Where am I in my lifetime, and what does that mean I have left?

Over the past year of processing this, I have probably approached it in almost every possible way. At different points I have decided I am right where I need to be and also nowhere close to what I should have done; feeling great for my age and feeling like a rickety dinosaur; believing I have special things still to create and lamenting that I don’t have time to create them; and just about every other dichotomy you could dream up. And I’ve not just ridden the extremes. I have also slid subtly along the spectrum of any imaginable scale of optimism, despair, or acceptance. Basically, I’ve learned it’s going to be a weird and complicated psychological ride on the way toward making any semblance of peace with my age from this point forward. Ambivalence will be my constant companion. That’s unsettling to me. But whoever said this stuff was easy?

Although I have tested out every mindset and approach to turning 50, the one that seems to be settling in now that I am actually here is the sense of urgency to do the things now. All of them. As soon as possible. It is an overwhelming sense of “I’m running out of time!” I keep wondering: How many years do I have left? And to put a finer point on it since I both work in education and naturally adore Summer, it usually comes down to this: How many Summers do I have left?

This Summer I spent working hard to complete the first draft of my next book. It felt amazing but also highly pressing. I was keenly aware every day that Summer was short and I had to take advantage. That is a microcosm of how I am feeling about what remains of my life at this stage: there isn’t much left and I better use every bit of it wisely.

I’m guessing there are lots of people out there who would look at it completely differently. Like, “Hey, I’m only 50. The average life expectancy is around 79. I’ve got a solid three decades to go. That’s plenty of time for accomplishment, adventure, and a relaxing retirement. What’s the rush?” I can see that point-of-view. I get it. It just isn’t me.

For one, I simply never pictured a very long life for myself. I hope I have lots of healthy, happy, and productive years ahead of me, but the vision doesn’t come naturally. The other thing is, during the process of writing this letter, one of my best friends from childhood died. Forty-nine years old and gone. He didn’t even make the 50 that I am bellyaching about! In the midst of my grieving these last few days, a thought has occasionally slipped free of the fog in my mind: There are no guaranteed days left. It could end any time.

Of course that is true every day since your arrival on Earth, but it never feels true when you are young, right? Today, though, when I am thinking about my friend’s kids who no longer have their Dad and his wife who no longer has her husband, it feels very, very true. Life is so darn short. And whether I make it to 51 or 81, I am well beyond the halfway mark now and the end will be here before I am ready for it. That clarity is enough to make me feel older than I want to be.

The bottom line is that turning 50 has ramped up my urgency to be the person I feel I was born to be and to do the things that make me feel joy, fulfillment, and sure that my presence here was a net-positive for the world, especially for the people whose lives I have touched. This sense of urgency and responsibility is something I imagine will only increase as I age, especially as I monitor and recognize my continued failure to reach the standards I have set for myself. I simply must rise to the occasion that is this beautiful Life. I will start immediately, because I have A LOT to do!

How about you? Have you made peace with your age and where you are in the cycle of Life? Open up your journal and sort yourself out in its pages. How old are you? When you say it, what feelings does it bring up? Do you cringe, even just slightly? How old do you feel in your mind? Do you fancy yourself much more young and carefree than you actually are? What percentage of people do you think actually feel OLD inside? How does your physical health affect your perception of your age? How does the way your body feels compare to the way your mind feels? Do you imagine that gap will only get wider with age, or how do you see your disparity changing? How much does age matter to you? Is it something you think about often? Does it stress you out at all? Do you dread your milestone birthdays that announce to the world that you are in the next decade? Has your view on which age is actually OLD changed as you have aged? At this point, what is the age when you start thinking of people as OLD? Are you included in that group? If so, does that bother you, or have you come to terms with it? If you are not yet what you consider to be OLD, how do you think you will handle your arrival there? At your age, what is your best guess about how much longer you will be around? With that number in mind, how urgent is the need to get going on things you plan to accomplish before you go? What are the things you have left to do in order to look back with a sense of fulfillment and peace about your time here? Which is the most pressing? What is one small step you can take today to move forward on that goal? I hope you take that step. Leave me a reply and let me know: Have you come to terms with your age?

Wishing you the most beautiful life,

William

P.S. It today’s letter resonated with you, please share it with your community. Our awareness of our own journey improves the intertwining journeys of everyone around us.

P.P.S. If this type of self-reflection for the purpose of growth is appealing to you, consider buying my book Journal Of YOU: Uncovering The Beauty That Is Your Truth at your favorite online retailers. Namaste.

Saying Goodby To Your Childhood

“Growing apart doesn’t change the fact that for a long time we grew side by side; our roots will always be tangled. I’m glad for that.” –Ally Condie, Matched

“My hometown… was always there, at all times, unchanging. What I think… is not that we go back to our hometowns, but that someday our hometowns come back into each of our hearts.” –Jirō Taniguchi, A Journal Of My Father

Hello friend,

My old man turned 80 years old a few weeks ago. Eighty! How the heck did that happen??? Anyway, since it was a big one, my four siblings and I agreed that we would all make the haul back to our hometown to celebrate the guy who made us. With the exception of last year—the Year Of All Exceptions—I have always gone back for Christmas. Other than that one annual trip, though, my visits to the place I grew up have been few and far between. Because I only go at Christmas, when the outside air hurts anything it touches, I really just hang out in my house for the few days I am there, usually taking a couple of walks around my neighborhood to remind myself of who lived in which house all those eons ago when I had the run of the place from sun-up to sun-down.

I am a sucker for nostalgia. I love pouring back over childhood memories in my mind. I had a truly enjoyable youth, so I am all smiles when I let my mind swim back through that sea of images. Getting a texted photo from a sibling or old friend from some long-forgotten event is always a delight for me. So, walking through my old neighborhood at Christmastime each year, even with my nostrils frozen shut, gives me all the good feelings.

I have been semi-consciously attempting, these last few years, to put a bow on my feelings about the two places that have always felt like childhood home to me. One is the lake cabin we have been going to since I was a kid, and one is my actual childhood home. I want to say goodbye to them while they are still in my life, not from a distance when they are suddenly taken away from me by my parents either selling them or dying. I wouldn’t have a lasting peace about it unless I can fully soak them in and say goodbye (even if I might be back again next year). As much as I have felt them as an essential part of me and my foundation, I want to let them go gracefully. Now that I think about it, I guess I am doing that with the people in my life who might be leaving soon, too (but that is a letter for a different day).

To be clear, I am not trying to cut these places (or people) out of my life; I am just trying to be at peace with them and the inevitability of their loss. I hope this will help me feel less empty when they go, whether that is tomorrow or ten years from now.

I feel like I have done pretty well with this project on my most recent visits home (and to the lake cabin). I have really felt each of the rooms in the house and taken in their memories and the positive energy they have filled my soul with over the nearly-half-century I have spent there. I have let myself simultaneously celebrate the memories and mourn the eventual loss of the place from my life. I have made Peace and truly given each space, including the yard and my neighborhood, a soulful salute, a great big “Namaste.” I hope to visit again many times, but if I don’t get the chance, I have some measure of closure already in the bank.

However, until this most recent trip back, I sensed that I was missing a key element of the goodbye. I could feel deep down that I wasn’t satisfied that it was complete, that I hadn’t let it all go. I hadn’t covered all my bases yet.

You see, on all of those Christmas trips home over the years, when I didn’t leave the house but for the occasional sledding run with the family, I always told myself that I wasn’t missing anything. I swore that the only place I wanted to hangout in my hometown was in my house (I really do love my house). I had no desire to go to the local mall to find after-Christmas sales or to the local bars to meet up with old school mates. I was content to just be home with my family. In my home.

Going back this time in the Autumn, though, when everything wasn’t so frozen solid, snow-covered, and dark for most of the day, gave me a chance to think about home in a new way. It let me think about the actual town where all of my memories were made, a town that I once loved very much but haven’t thought much about in recent years. When everything is frozen over, I sneak in, hunker down in my house, and then sneak back out. The town goes untouched, unnoticed. This time, though, coming in off the highway, it felt like a real place, like it had a soul. I felt the stirrings in my own soul and understood just what had been left undone. I needed a personal reckoning with my hometown. I needed to take it all in one more time, to make Peace with it so I could bid it a fond farewell.

So, one afternoon when the kids were busy with their cousins, my wife—who was also raised there but has a very different history and relationship with the place—and I got in the car with the stated intent to “tour the town.” The only two certain stops on the trip were the old Scandinavian church in a park where we were married and the cemetery where her father is buried. The rest of the itinerary was left to my whimsy, which is exactly how I like the world to be.

We started off heading to the other end of town, going past a couple of the houses she grew up in (unlike me, she bounced around town a bit), laughing about how small her elementary school looks now and how that walk that felt to her like a mile was really only a couple of blocks. We pointed out the stores we frequented for candy, and every treasured Dairy Queen. We kept going past friends’ houses and places we had been to parties or taken late-night drives until we arrived at what used to be the very end of town but is now a bustling neighborhood and huge new school. I asked for a special favor to go into the tennis club where I used to play as a kid (and later worked). The lady at the desk indulged me in a quick look around and even gave me an old black-and-white photo that had been left there from the era when I learned tennis, of my first coach, my high school coach, and my former boss, all as young adults in their short-shorts. The memories came flooding in, and so many emotions rolled over me. I am so glad we stopped.

Next, we started the long, circuitous journey from the farthest North end of town to the farthest South, weaving our way in a scattered zig-zag from East to West and back whenever a new idea struck me. We laughed about the old hotels where birthday parties and Homecoming nights took place. There was the bowling alley where we had gone together before we were officially dating a few decades ago. It was a sad discovery to drive by the town roller rink I used to go to on Friday nights and see that it was no longer a roller rink; I loved that place. I had to go by all of my favorite tennis courts where I spent countless hours with friends and foes, every court holding a memory of what was once an all-important match.

We visited all of our schools, including ones that are no longer even there, lost in a flood a decade ago. Those school memories had no end for me. There was my elementary school—now with an addition—every teacher and friend so crystal clear to me still. We went by the football fields outside my middle school where we once shot off the rockets we made in Science class. Around the back side of my first high school, I thought of the school dances in the pitch-black basement cafeteria. We drove around on the course where our Driver’s Ed class happened, laughing about “The Serpentine” and parallel parking nightmares.

We stopped at the hill above the high school football field and tennis courts and looked out across the valley of the city. There was so much of my life in that view: my friends’ houses, my Dad’s workplace, the place I spoke at my high school graduation, the streets I biked and later drove, everything. In the distance I spotted the college football field in whose parking lot I had my first kiss. Just down the street from that view, we stopped at that Scandinavian church where I “kissed the bride” on my wedding day. Everywhere I looked that afternoon, there was some memory to smile about. This was the town of my childhood. My childhood was a happy one. It was worth remembering.

As the years have gone by and I have matured and embraced my Truth, the rose-colored lenses I once viewed the town with have evolved. As with everything else in my little corner of the world, I have taken a deeper and more critical look at the place. I have realized some things about being raised there that I wish were not the case, things I was vaguely aware of then but can now put a finer point on. It was an extremely homogeneous town. It felt like everyone was White, straight, and Christian, and I am quite sure it was pretty horrible for anyone who did not appear to fit into those strict categories (my wife being one of them). It was heavily conservative and narrow-minded. None of the institutions—schools, churches, etc.–did anything to nurture the compassion and progressive values that I hope my current community is modeling for my own kids. You were treated well if and only if you fit the right description. At the time, I was quite clueless about how privilege works—which is part of the definition of privilege—and thus no doubt contributed to the culture.

Looking back, all of that makes me sad. The town could have done a lot more for me than it did. I am a little bit amazed at how I turned out morally (and, by extension, politically), which makes me feel there is a lot more Nature than Nurture going on. But there is something I have been working on in my heart and mind in recent months, especially in these times where political (i.e. moral) differences are tearing families and friendships apart, sometimes in one dramatic moment and other times through silence and slow distancing (my people prefer the latter). Old friends, parents, and siblings, the people whom you have loved and been loved by forever, are not going to survive a measuring by your evolved and refined standards. They just aren’t. Your Dad is going to be a racist or misogynist (or both), your sibling is going to be a homophobe, or—clutch the pearls—your childhood bestie is going to be a Democrat (or whatever horrific thing you want to fill in the blank with). They are going to disappoint you in ways that pain your heart and make you question the wisdom and sanity of every future visit. My new goal in these interpersonal relationships with people whom I genuinely love but still struggle with their beliefs and actions is to appreciate them for all the things they ARE and HAVE BEEN for me and let go of all the things they ARE NOT and HAVE NEVER BEEN.

This long, circuitous drive let me do the same thing for my hometown. I got to forgive it for all the things it was not and set that aside so I could fully appreciate it for all the things that it was to me for so long, for what it has helped me to still be all these years later. There were so many great things about it, so many places all over the town that gave me happy thoughts. I saw the place through the rose-colored glasses of my youth—I guess I always will–and I loved it all over again for one beautiful afternoon. Not only did I love it, though; I appreciated it. Through my nostalgic grins and chuckles and “I-remember-whens,” I got to give the place that made me one final, grateful salute. An honest, heartfelt Thanks for everything. And with it, a Goodbye.

I needed that Goodbye.

How about you? What is your connection to your hometown? Open up your journal and take a deep dive into the sea of your childhood memories. What was your town like when you were a kid? Do you have memories from around the entire town or mostly just your neighborhood and schools? Where did your friends live? How close was your house to school? How big was your range for “going out to play”? Were you on your bike a lot? What was your relationship to school? Did you like your teachers? How many friends did you have? Where did you go to buy candy or other treats? Where did you usually play? Whose houses were you comfortable in? What were your favorite things to do? As you got into your teens and high school, how did your friend group change? How did your feelings about school change? How much more of the town did you cover once cars entered the scene? What activities were you involved in? Did your activities connect you with different parts of the town and new friends from a broader area? How much of your town were you familiar with? Could you always find your way home? What about the town itself? Did it have any unique features? What were the main hangouts when you were in high school? At the time, would you have said you liked the town? Do you remember your time there fondly? Were you dying to get out when you finished school? How big of a role did the town’s places—its parks, schools, movie theaters, malls, etc.—play in your enjoyment of it? How would you, as a kid, have described your town’s population and culture? How has that view changed as you have aged? Do you have a clearer sense now of the town’s general attitudes and cultural leanings then? Does this evolution make you view your childhood and feelings for the town differently? What is your relationship with your hometown now? Do you visit? Do you have friends and family there? Would you go back if they weren’t still there? If you still live there or have moved back, what is the draw? What makes the place special? Is it the same things that were special to you when you were a kid? If you don’t still live there, what is your attitude toward the people who do? Are you more like, “That is so cool!” or “What is wrong with you?” Wherever you live, are you able to see the shortcomings of your hometown or ways you wish it had better treated you or prepared you for the world? Do you feel like the town provided you with your values or that you either brought them to the scene or developed them in spite of the town? What things about your hometown are you appalled by? Given where you are in your life right now and who you are, would it be a good fit for you? Would you choose to raise kids there or recommend it to others? Do you wish you were raised elsewhere? Have you forgiven it for all that it wasn’t for you? Even if you dislike some or much of it, are you still able to think fondly of the places and people that you liked when you were a kid? Are you able to be grateful you lived there? If you no longer live there, have you taken the time and effort to make peace with the place? Have you done a stroll down Memory Lane—either in your memory or an actual drive like I did—to say a true goodbye to all the spots in town that live in your heart? If you never saw the place again, would that sit alright with you? If not, what can you do to rectify that feeling and get some closure, if anything? Will you? Leave me a reply and let me know: Have you said a real goodbye to your hometown and your childhood?

I wish you Peace,

William

P.S. If this resonated with you today, I hope you will share it. Sometimes people need a nudge along their path to Peace.

P.P.S. If this way of self-reflection appeals to you, consider buying my book, Journal of YOU: Uncovering The Beauty That Is Your Truth, at your favorite online retailers. Namaste.

The Absolute Worst Time To Make A Big Life Decision…Or Not?

“Losing your head in a crisis is a good way to become the crisis.” –C.J. Redwine, Defiance

“Some beautiful paths can’t be discovered without getting lost.” –Erol Ozan

Hello friend,

I was talking with a friend last week—she’s about my age–and out of nowhere, she dropped this bomb on me: “I’ve come into a little bit of money, and I am thinking I might retire.” She said she would like to relax, travel, volunteer–all of that stuff that we all say we are going to do when we retire. You know: unstructured and unobligated living. The dream. Well, my dream anyway. To me, it sounds like everything I have always wanted: casual, fluid, free. The only problem: none of that sounds like her!

In other conversations, she has shared with me how difficult the first months of the pandemic were on her, as that was the time when she was not able to go into her work and have that structure, schedule, and task list that her tightly-wound personality requires. It was a mental health struggle to be without her job (not the income part). After reiterating that fundamental aspect of her personality to me numerous times in recent months, you can imagine my surprise the other day she when totally flipped the script with the announcement of a possible retirement. WHAT?!?!? I was flabbergasted. A reasonable guess would have been that she was clinging for dear life to the normalcy and regularity of her career in these wildly uncertain times. Nope! Just the opposite. After explaining herself, she at least showed her self-awareness by asserting that with all of the stressors that our whole society has been flooded with this year—coronavirus, George Floyd, Donald Trump, etc.—she probably has no business making any major Life decisions at this point.

That counterpoint flashed me back to last Autumn, a conversation I had with my niece. She is a freshman in college, and she was by that point a few months into it and feeling very unsure as to whether her chosen school was really the right place for her. Not sure about the people, the vibe of the campus, all of that stuff that is crucial at that transformative age that so many of us recall as a life-defining year on our journey of self-discovery. I remember saying to her, “This is going to come as no comfort to you, but I think you may not get to have an answer to that question this year. You may go through the whole school year isolated in your dorm room and at socially distanced meals, not going to the parties and club meetings and lecture halls that all of the other college freshmen in the history of college campuses have used to find their crowd and their niche. You may have to wait a whole year until you can start a “normal year,” using your second year of college to learn what everyone else in history has learned in their first year. But if it’s any consolation, all of the other freshmen in the world are stuck in this same Purgatory. How can you know if a place is right for you if you are not able to experience it as it usually is?” I’m sorry to say it, but you may just not get to decide anything big this year.”

I mentioned that conversation to my friend the other day when she was questioning the sanity of her sudden desire to retire. We both agreed that the crazy extremes of circumstances and emotions this year have left us feeling like our minds are on shaky ground and thus we ought to be suspicious of any major, Life-altering inclinations that flash through them. It has become difficult to trust our impulses, knowing that everything this year has been “unprecedented”—a word used more often this year than any other—and therefore “not normal.”

We have good reason to think that when we return to that normal—please tell me it is soon—that our inclinations and tastes will probably be more like they were before. Our current desires to overhaul our lives and the world around us will go from a boil to a simmer, maybe even to a cool. We will almost certainly go back to the same old, same old. Our minds and passions will go back on autopilot and cruise control. We will quickly shush those inner voices that suggest we shake it all up, whether that shake-up is a new job, a retirement, a new health care system, or a new way of policing our cities. Big ideas will be replaced by small ones again. Progress, if any, will be by baby steps again. You remember, the usual. These impulses—whether personal or societal–that have been allowed oxygen during these “unprecedented times” will crawl back under the rock they emerged from. If you just ignore them for a little while longer, you will get to that spot where you won’t have to be so suspicious of your inclinations. You will be safe and boring and uninspired again. We all will.

But should we ignore them?

What if the lockdowns resulting from the coronavirus pandemic made it crystal clear to you how little time you had actually been spending with your family and how important that time is, making you want to dramatically shift your schedule and perhaps your career path? What if the economic crisis made you aware of how thoroughly unfulfilling your luxury car or jewelry or fancy whatever is, making you want to sell off some things and simplify, giving more of your wealth to causes that you now see truly need it. What if the George Floyd and Breonna Taylor stories sparked a sudden realization of your privilege in this inequitable world, stirring up an activist streak in you that you had no idea existed? What if the Capitol insurrection of January 6^th and the exposure of the lies about the election fraud made you wake up to the reality of the damage your political beliefs have been doing in the real world for years, causing you to re-think not only your use of social media and usual news sources but also your political party? What if all of these cascading crises have actually made things not more fuzzy for you, but more clear? What if it took all of this to reveal your true values and priorities?

Maybe we haven’t had our foundation shaken but rather just had the artifice scraped off. Maybe it took all of this drama and uncertainty to make clear who we really are inside and what we want our lives to be truly about. Maybe all of these “out of nowhere” impulses to change ourselves and our world aren’t really so out of nowhere. Maybe they have been at our core, our foundation, the entire time, just covered up or blurred by all of the other superficial stuff that we thought we should be doing or the speed at which we’ve been going to try to keep up with all of our commitments. Isn’t there some quote–or at least a meme–about how life is not about finding yourself so much as it is about uncovering who you always were? Well, that is what I am getting at. It’s just so easy to get swept along by “normal life,” with all its busy-ness, and become numb to the signs from our soul about what is truly important to us and what resonates deep in our being. The panic of a global health scare, the guilt and grief of knowing a loved one is dying alone in a hospital, or the graphic video of one man calmly kneeling on another man’s neck as the life force slowly goes out of him—these things have the power to shake us to a different level and perhaps expose our Truths in a way that we can no longer deny. Trauma breeds uncertainty, no doubt, but maybe it also breeds clarity.

So, how do we tell which is which? How do we know if that newfound impulse to switch careers or run for City Council or lead a protest march or have a baby or get a divorce or buy a bookmobile or join the Peace Corps or get a dog–how do we know if these are the insecurity of a totally shaken core talking, and how do we know if they are a finally revealed core talking? Is there a different sound they make—a resonance—we can listen for to know if this is the thing to reject due to the extremity of the year rather than attend to because it is the revelation of our essence? How does one feel compared to the other?

Honestly, I don’t know. That is why I journal every day: to try to flesh it out. I fill up my pages with the rolling of ideas around in my head, taking them from different angles, ascertaining whether and how the impulse evolves over time, questioning my motivations and scouring my psyche for insecurities or unsatisfied longings. I attempt to look at myself in the mirror as clear-eyed as I possibly can, hoping to decipher which of these new impulses is an imposter out for a persuasive but fleeting flight of fancy, and which is my Truth revealing itself in a way that my eyes can finally see.

I think my friend is right to be suspicious of her motives for her recent, dramatic shift in outlook on her career. Not even necessarily the motives themselves—they should be mined for lessons for their own sake—but the sustainability of her motives. Will they keep when her job goes back to the normal that she loved for so many years? Maybe not. I am guessing most of our impulses and temptations from this year will not. Most, but not all. Truths have been revealed to us; I am sure of that. Whether or not we will do a good job of combing through the lot to dismiss the pretenders and find that priceless gem—or whether we even allow ourselves the courage to entertain the new ideas and inspirations at all—is a different matter. I happen believe in the power of those impulses; I think they are messages from our deeper levels. There is Magic in there. Sure, it must be sorted through, but true Magic is worth the labor. That is where the marrow of Life is. It is why, when my friend was verbally dismissing her retirement idea with, “Of course, now is the absolute worst time to be making any sort of meaningful Life decision,” I replied with, “Or maybe it’s the perfect time… .” Maybe. I am here to find out.

How about you? Do you trust yourself to make an important Life change at a time of multiple societal crises and a swirl of heavy emotions inside you? Open up your journal and try to get a sense of how steady your current grounding is to your True North? Generally speaking, how has your mental health been in recent months compared to other points in your life when things were more “normal”? How much more grief, anxiety, and sadness have you been dealing with this year? Have you found your mind feeling more foggy, your senses dulled, or your motivation lacking? Have you enjoyed things as much as you usually do, or are you one of the many experiencing anhedonia, the loss of the ability to feel pleasure? Do you like your job as well this year as you have in other years? Are you as engaged in your work and as fulfilled by your tasks? With all of that considered, how confident are you in your ability to make the wisest decisions on major Life issues this year (e.g. career or location change, family changes like having a child or getting a divorce)? How much more or less confident is that than you are in “normal” times—i.e., any time before 2020? Have you had to make some big decisions anyway, whether you wanted to or not? If so, how has it worked out so far? What fresh impulses or ideas have you had in the last year around bigger changes to your lifestyle? In what area have they popped up most frequently or strongly? Career path? Family life? Health of your lifestyle? Politics? Spirituality? Relationships? How have these inclinations and impulses been different than what you have felt in other, more stable times in your life? How do you interpret their meaning? Do you tend to take these new tastes or ideas seriously and follow through on them, or are you more skeptical of any big idea you have during these unprecedented times? Which new changes have you made? Which ideas did you disregard? Which ones will you keep on your radar until Life settles down a bit and returns to normalcy? What is the biggest, game-changing decision you have made in the last year? How has it worked out? Would you have made the same decision in normal times? Has all of this crisis, change, and chaos served to make your values and priorities more clear to you? How will this period change your Life in the long run? Will you be better for it, or will you carry the mental and emotional scars and be weighed down by them? If someone came to you now who has struggled emotionally through this period and announces a major Life-changing decision, would you caution them against making such a big move given the circumstances—essentially telling them to wait it out until it is easier to be clear-headed–or are you inclined to think that these times are good for clarifying priorities and are thus a great time to make a big change? Is your opinion on this different for yourself than it is for the general public? Leave me a reply and let me know: Is this age of cascading crises the absolute worst time to make a big Life decision, or is it the best?

Take care of yourself,

William

P.S. If today’s letter resonated with you, please share it. Together we can get through anything!

P.P.S. If this way of self-reflection suits you, consider buying my book, Journal Of YOU: Uncovering The Beauty That Is Your Truth, at your favorite online retailers. Namaste.

How Can You Make Your Home Reflect Your Soul?

“I live in my own little world. But it’s ok, they know me here.” —Lauren Myracle

“Home isn’t where you’re from, it’s where you find light when all grows dark.” –Pierce Brown, Golden Son

Hello friend,

Every year, I pledge to spend more time outdoors. In my quest to fine-tune everything about my life as I have aged, I have come to realize that being outside just hits all the right buttons for me. It calms me. It energizes me. It inspires me. Quite simply, it fills up my soul with all kinds of beautiful light. As I have become more aware of this magic, I have increasingly made these pledges to put myself out there more often, to find the fresh air and let it do its thing upon my spirit. I don’t have to do much—though I do love the action—but rather just be in it. Just be in “the room where it happens,” so to speak, though that magical room is no room at all. In fact, it is everything that a room is not: unbound, uncontained, limitless. For me, there is nothing better than to feel limitless.

So, I make myself promises and plans to get out more, to allow fewer excuses for staying inside. I do it in every season, even in the terribly long, dark, and cold Winters of Minnesota. Those are tough every year (though I did better this time around). I do it in our brief Autumn and Springtime, too, trying to squeeze every last little bit of warmth out of the season before Winter and then trying to make up for lost time by immediately pouncing on any early Spring day that offers a glimmer of Hope in the way of sunshine (or even just relatively little wind). I mine it for all it is worth.

But my season is Summer. I love the warm air filling up my lungs, the light breeze caressing my cheeks. I love the heat, and I love the shade. Summer does it all for me. So, of course, that is when I really crank up the demands regarding the fresh air. I want to be outside all day long! I feel pent-up if I am not. That fresh air is like a drug that I want more and more of.

Alas, living in this Land of 10,000 Bodies of Stagnant Water, my Summer outdoor hours have always been limited by my least favorites creatures in all of Creation: mosquitoes. I loathe mosquitoes. Earnestly, passionately loathe them. Aside from the buzzing, pestering nuisance in the moment, the disgusting smell of repellant, and the bites that make me itch nonstop for several days afterwards (and make my children swell up like fleshy melons on their skin)—each awful in its own right—it is their very direct role in keeping me indoors during my season that incites my greatest hatred. But it is more than hatred. It is resentment. I resent that they are keeping me from what my heart and mind know to be rightfully mine. I belong in that enchanting night air. It is my element. Each breath is like food to my soul. To be denied that has always felt disturbingly wrong to me at a cellular level. It is the one aspect of Summer that leaves me feeling contained, and my finicky soul cannot abide by that. I am not to be bound. My happiness depends upon it.

All these years, I have been vaguely aware of this but have felt helpless to do anything about it. I have placated myself by spending as much daylight time as possible outside. I have even gone from being a natural night owl to an early riser so I can be up and out in the early part of the day in order to capture more of it, thereby tiring myself out by the time darkness arrives so I can tell myself I am not missing much indoors. I guess that deep down, though, I have known all along. I still feel that longing for the cooling air of night, the sounds of the insects, the shine of the moon, and the faint glimmer of starlight high above suburbia. It has become clear that I will not feel completely at Peace and at home unless I can bridge that gap to carefree fresh air at any hour.

But how?

At my childhood home, we used to have a back deck on the second level with a shabby concrete patio underneath. In later years, my parents put some walls up and screened the large window spaces, making a three-season porch with a big hammock inside. I spent every Summer night reading and writing in that hammock, basking in the intoxicating nighttime air. It was glorious. I have longed for its equivalent ever since.

Well, a few decades later and ten years after living in my current house, I am finally about to get my wish. My wonderful, tenacious researcher of a wife, after begrudgingly submitting to the idea that she is stuck living in the cold of Minnesota until her kids are grown, has become determined to do Life in this house right. So, rather than hide inside from the mosquitoes with me and miss her beautiful Summer evenings, she found the one contractor who could screen in our entire deck–sides and roof–creating an outdoor living room. Fresh air, views of the night sky, all the sounds of nature, but without those evil mosquitoes hunting our blood when the sun begins to set. I had spotted a house with one of these screen rooms a few years ago and have been fantasizing about it ever since. I even asked the guy who owned it, but he had no information, and I didn’t think we would ever make the investment anyway, even if we could find someone to design and build it. But here we are, deep in discussion. The designs are done, and if all goes well with the weather gods and contractors and such, it will be built before the swarms of mosquitoes arrive for the season. Did I mention my wife is wonderful?

I daydream about it all the time now. I picture myself typing away on my laptop while lying on my hammock under the stars, listening to the crickets. I envision game nights by the fire table with family and friends. I see my wife and I sharing a quiet evening with our books and the fresh air. I imagine outdoor sleepovers with the kids under the full moon. Did I mention that there are no mosquitoes in any of these visions? Only Peace, Joy, and Freedom. Limitless.

This screen room fits me like a glove. I haven’t even been in it yet, but whenever I think about it, I feel the biggest grin spread all the way across my face. It is a contented grin, a satisfied one, like, “Yes, this hits the spot.” I laugh, as it reminds me of the sappy old line from Jerry Maguire: “You complete me.” Maybe it’s sad to say that about some aluminum posts and a bunch of screen, but hey, I feel it. It’s a game-changer in the way I feel about my home.

I am always looking for little things that I can insert into my daily existence that rub my soul the right way. I want not only the things that I do in Life to resonate with my heart and mind; I want the things I touch, the things I see, the spaces I occupy to hit me there, too. I know it when I feel it. I am talking about resonance: that which “rings true” to my very essence when its chord is struck. So I test things out, and when something feels like me—like me at Peace—I adopt it. I make it part of my home, part of my world. Part of me.

Obviously, it would be great to have an unlimited bank account so I could buy anything I want any time I felt that pull. After all, in my experience, luxury items tend to feel pretty darn good. Intoxicating, even. But that is not my financial reality. I have to operate within my realm, and I am pretty cheap by nature, anyway. So the screen room is a huge deal for me, budget-wise and Peace-wise. It is a game-changer—and I want to believe it is going to be worth it in the long run—but it is not the kind of soul booster I can treat myself to very often.

With that in mind, I seek out the little items and little ways make my space feel more homey to my whole being. I have hundreds of family photos on my walls; I enlarge the ones I especially love. I hang other Nature photos I have taken; they remind me of my favorite places and my joy in creating. I drink my tea and hot chocolate out of only a couple of mugs of a certain style that feels right in my hand and right to my eye; the same with my water cup. I only like to hold certain types of pens and pencils. I keep just the right configuration of pillows around my body in my bed. I like my towel to be a certain color and texture. When I get a say in paint color for rooms I will spend time in, I use that resonation test. I own multiple hammocks and an anti-gravity chair (and someday a plush recliner), so much do I prefer to recline rather than sitting upright. I have a certain spoon I use to eat my ice cream, nothing like the spoons I use the rest of the day. All of these selections are things that just feel right to me. In a way, I suppose they are my method of treating myself in almost every moment of the day. Not in a fancy way, but in a catered-to-my-soul’s-care way.

They are my idiosyncratic ways of making my space mine, and I am guessing that you couldn’t find another person with strong feelings about all of the same things that move the needle for me (an ice cream spoon?). Everyone has different things that their soul latches onto, different ways that bring Peace in through their senses. I can imagine people for whom it might be a spice organizer. A desk. Drapes of a certain color or fabric texture. A fitness room (or corner of a room). A meditation spot or religious shrine. Throw pillows. Floor-to-ceiling book shelves. Framed quotes. A compost bin. Great sheets. A fruit tree. Surround sound. Special light fixtures or cabinet pulls. Hardwood floors. Exposed brick. A double oven. A change of stain color on the trim. Glassware. A wet bar. A ping pong table. A certain blanket. House plants. A dressing table. A solid, sharp kitchen knife. Family heirlooms. The perfect chair. A reading nook. A workshop. On even the smallest of budgets, the options are truly endless.

I hope your space is filled top-to-bottom with things that make you feel the way my visions of the screen room are making me feel. Even though I said it will complete me, I have no doubt that I will keep searching for more, keep fine-tuning all of the spaces my life touches to make them simultaneously invigorate and calm me. Maybe by the time I have it all right, it will be time for me to retire to the beach (the right beach, of course, with the right lounge chair and the right towel, the right sunglasses)! Something tells me I will continue this soul quest until the day I die.

How about you? How can you make your living spaces resonate more with your soul? Open up your journal and take a walk through your home. Which parts of it feel the most homey to your senses? Do the staple items in your sleeping space—sheets, pillows, blankets, lighting, wall color, and art—make you want to snuggle right in every time you enter the room? Is your pillow special to you? Does your configuration of blankets and pillows feel like it is custom-tailored to your sleeping style, or is it pretty generic? What could you change to make it more welcoming and restful, more personal? How about in your bathroom? Does your toothbrush make you want to brush your teeth (mine does)? Do you have certain towels that make you feel specially cared for? Does your shower space—and the products in it—bring you Peace? Does the light feel right to you? Would a dimmer switch provide a level of control and variety that better suits your particular tastes and moods? Is there a certain level of cleanliness beyond which you become agitated? How well do you do at keeping it in the comfortable zone? Does your kitchen suit you? Are there specific dishes or utensils that are your favorites? Is there a specific small appliance that is a special treat for you (e.g. a blender, an espresso machine, a waffle iron)? Do you enjoy hanging out in your kitchen, whether for cooking or socializing? Are your cabinets and walls the right color for you? How about your family room or living room, wherever you are most likely to lounge and read or watch television? Do you have a special spot? What makes it yours? Do you nap there also? How does the texture of the furniture affect you? Is there another space in the house that you feel especially at home in (e.g. an office, a guest room, a workout or meditation space)? What makes that place soothing to your soul, beyond just what you do in there? Is it the seating? The color? The light? The décor? How about your outer spaces? Do you have a patio or deck? Are they happy places for you like they are for me? Do you have special lounge chairs or a hammock that are your jam? How about a fire pit or table? What could you add to make it more meaningful to you? Do you have a yard? If so, are you happy there? What is your favorite thing about your outside space? A certain tree or garden? The grass? The view? What connects it to your essence? In all of your home space, what is the biggest splurge item you have purchased just because it feels good to you each time you interact with it? What is the simplest thing that deeply resonates with you but that other people might not even notice or care about? Which colors give you the best feelings? How does light affect your experiences? Are textures important to you (e.g. sheets, towels, furniture, flooring, utensils, etc.)? Is there something specific that really stirs your soul (like my fresh air)? Does your home and the way your currently use give you enough of that special ingredient? How can you infuse more of your home life with it? If someone you care about visited your home for the first time, do you think they could feel your energy in its different spaces? Can you? Leave me a reply and let me know: How can you make your home touch more of your soul?

Live in Peace,

William

P.S. If today’s letter resonated with you, please share it. Let’s care for ourselves by being true to ourselves!

P.P.S. If this way of digging deep into your life to find out what makes you tick feels right to you, consider buying my book, Journal of YOU: Uncovering The Beauty That Is Your Truth, at your favorite online retailers.

A Lost Year: Reflections On My Coronavirus Anniversary

“Reality continues to ruin my life.” –Bill Watterson, The Complete Calvin and Hobbes

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo. “So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” –J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

Hello friend,

Last weekend, my daughter had her State Basketball Tournament. On our way home on Sunday afternoon, we got off the highway and were heading down the frontage road when she chimed in from the back seat: “Hey Dad, there’s the last restaurant we went to!” It took me a second to jar my memory, but finally it clicked in. She was right: there beside the road was the T.G.I.Fridays we had gone to with her teammates and their families on the day her State Tournament ended last year. The realization was a sobering one.

Last year.

With my daughter’s words, my mind was transported back to the first few weeks of March 2020. The quickly escalating tension and concern. The constant monitoring of the news for case updates and closures. The immediate fear of contracting the virus and losing loved ones. And what seemed like the worst at the time: the overwhelming sense of dread and inevitability as I watched the two biggest things occupying my mind head straight for each other like two runaway trains on the same track: my long-dreamt-about family beach vacation and the exponential spread of the coronavirus toward the point of national lockdown.

I remember how desperate I felt to get to that sunshine and warmth so I could immerse myself in the saltwater that always seems to make me whole again. I remember how irrational my thoughts became as the numbers rose to the point where it should have been obvious that the vacation was simply not going to happen. Things were beginning to shut down, and the dominoes kept falling. My son’s State Tournament, scheduled for the weekend after my daughter’s and just a couple days before our trip, was canceled. I begged the Universe for some loophole to appear that would allow us to go. I was willing things to be different, so obsessed was I with that vacation.

When I finally faced reality, I remember sitting on my bed, breaking the news to my kids. It was a heavy night in our house. They were so disappointed. We all were. It was terrible.

And that was only the beginning…

As we got deeper into March, a bizarre new way of life emerged at my house. School was shut down, only to be later restarted in a less-than-ideal way at home through devices. I scrounged for toilet paper, but otherwise we avoided stores, restaurants, and even our own jobs (which we were grateful to keep as others were losing theirs). It was a surreal new world to occupy, but the sacrifices made sense in order to quickly move out of the danger zone and back to our version of Normal.

From this view now, it seems odd that we imagined that the return to Normal would be quick. But we did.

One memory of those very early days that stands out in my mind is of watching a news show and hearing projections about the damage the novel coronavirus could cause if we—as regular citizens and our elected leaders–didn’t take the right steps early on in its days in America. I specifically remember them saying that it could potentially kill 70,000 people here. I thought, “NO WAY!!! That will NEVER happen! (But maybe the outlandish number will scare some people into behaving well for others in their communities.)” Seventy thousand. What a fantasy that sounds like now, as we recently blew by the half-a-million milestone and are still allowing 2,000 Americans to die every day from the virus, even as we continue to loosen our restrictions on gatherings and mask-wearing in many states. Oh, America…

After that crazy start, April arrived and seemed to stay for about 87 days. As an introvert, I felt like I had spent my whole life preparing for the forced isolation and quiet. It was just fine with me. At first, the “family time” and “break from organized activities” were relatively easy to sell to my kids. It grew less easy over time. They understood the seriousness of the virus and how each person’s behavior affected the entire community, so they accepted how disciplined my wife and I demanded us all to be. Still, seeing the unmasked neighbor kids wrestling in their yards with friends and other too-large neighborhood gatherings of adults made them wonder (justifiably) why other people got to cheat the rules. We can see now where all that cheating got us.

May was much like April—long and solitary—except that the warmer weather made getting out of the house for family walks and bike rides easier. We all appreciated the diversion. And outside, we could actually see other humans walking and riding as well, evidence that we were not alone on the planet, even if we couldn’t interact with them.

Summer is totally my season, and I had long been planning lots of adventures for my family for the 2020 Summer. We were going to take camping trips and many trips to the lake. To top it all off was to be a huge, cross-country roadtrip that included tons of sightseeing as well as visits with family and friends. The kids were the perfect age for it. It was to be one of those trips we would always talk about when we got together over the course of our lifetimes, forever family memories. NOPE! Canceled, canceled, canceled. Thanks to some family members committed to keeping safe, we were at least able to get to the lake to be with people we love. As I look back on the year, that time at the lake was the closest thing I have felt to Normal in the last twelve months. It was fantastic, and maybe something I will never take for granted again.

For my kids, other than their four-guest, outdoor birthday parties, if they wanted to spend time with friends, they had to stay on their bikes and talk while riding around the neighborhood. A far cry from the “just go out and play” days of the past. Childhood, interrupted.

Despite the rolling disappointment of the muted previous seasons, Autumn came around too soon, as it always does for me. Things like school and organized activities kind of halfway started, at least for some kids, including mine. It was like coming into the kitchen as a full batch of cookies is coming out of the oven but only being offered a single bite. Unsatisfying. But it was something. For the beggars we had all become over the previous several months, we clung to it desperately.

But then, of course, it ended. Schools and activities shut down again as cases and deaths skyrocketed. We were back to a fully muted life again, this time just more accustomed to it. Holidays that we have always celebrated heartily, like Halloween and Thanksgiving, came and went with just the four of us hanging out at home. The kids got lazy and addicted to screens in the absence of school and sports. We were determined to still get outdoors whenever we could, searching for energy and inspiration in a time when those were in short supply.

Winter continued the theme, as our lives seemed a bit frozen in time for a while as the virus kept us under its thumb. Slowly and tentatively, activities resumed. Eventually, games began to be played—fully masked and short of breath–and talk of a return to in-person schooling in some form. When school did resume recently, it was still the partial version. Half-schedules and no lockers for older kids, eating at your desk for the younger. There is no doubt the kids were glad to be back, but of course, it is not the same. Not as free. Not as fun. Just like everything else.

And now, here we are again in March. A full year into this COVID lifestyle and about to miss yet another Spring Break family beach vacation. I cannot think about this past year without shaking my head. It is involuntary. I cannot even begin to explain how deeply disappointed and frustrated I am with everything about this situation. The fact that we are a year out from the first deaths in this country and are still erasing 2,000 more people every day just makes me sick to my stomach. The fact that I have essentially lost a full year in my fleeting life feels thoroughly wasteful. I feel like I have been robbed. I’m sad about it. But I am also angry. I am sick and tired of shaking my head. At spineless or inept politicians failing their moral duties. At yet another milestone marker in cases or deaths. At people in the grocery store with their masks down below their noses. Or people going on vacation. Or going to bars and restaurants. Or refusing to get vaccinated. Or leaving the house when they are sick. Or complaining about how tough the guidelines and restrictions are when they aren’t even following them anyway. My neck is sore from all of the shaking, I swear.

Let me be clear: I am well aware that my family and I have been extremely blessed during the entire pandemic and over the course of this awful year. We have been healthy and connected: never got the virus and didn’t kill each other. We have had paychecks and food on the table. We are lucky, and I am deeply grateful for that. I have made the best of a best of a bad situation. And I can honestly say that I have been happy all year.

But not fulfilled. Not enjoying my work the way I normally would. Not getting all of my itches scratched for adventure, travel, laughter, and human connection. Not free. Basically, just not living my best life. Pandemic living is just so awfully dimmed and muted. I resent the dullness of it, how little there is to look forward to. It is so unlike glorious, regular Life.

That stinks. Because like I said, I am not getting any younger, and my years are flying by. I don’t have any extras to just throw away anymore. There is too much I want to do and feel, and too much I want to share with my kids while they are still kids.

So, I feel like I’ve been cheated this past year. Every day going forward from today in which it still feels unwise to travel and play and hug and look deeply into a friend’s eyes while we share our deepest thoughts, I will feel even more cheated. And not simply because there was a global pandemic. Bad things happen; I get that. Things don’t always go my way. So yeah, the coronavirus has been a bite in the butt. But I feel more cheated by my fellow countrymen. My neighbors and co-workers, my family and friends. And yes, my elected leaders. Collectively, we Americans have behaved horribly regarding COVID, completely failing the exam. Our federal policy was nonexistent (though I must say we did well in developing a vaccine quickly). Our state policies were not strong enough. But mostly, it was just the regular folks in our communities—our friends and neighbors–who were unwilling to sacrifice for one another. As my co-worker likes to say, ”They never should have told Americans that wearing a mask (and wearing it correctly) was to protect others. They should have led with, ‘The mask is only to save yourself.’” Other countries were amazing. There were plenty of examples to look to. The keys to beating the virus back were not secret. We just didn’t do it. And we are still, a year later, not doing it. That really makes me mad. Sad, too, because I hate to think so poorly of my country and my countrymen. But I do. Because we could have beaten this thing by now. We should have beaten this thing by now. It disgusts me that we haven’t. And that I am still counting. I am thoroughly disappointed. I have been that way all year long.

How about you? What are your strongest memories and takeaways from your year dealing with the coronavirus pandemic? Open up your journal and your heart, and wander back through the last twelve months in your mind. Go ahead, begin at the beginning. What was happening in your life in March of 2020 as things started to get real with the virus? What were the first things in your world to get disrupted? Which plans did you have to cancel? What was your level of fear and tension around the virus itself? How upset were you with the sudden changes in your lifestyle? Do you have a personality that flows well with change and chaos? Which aspects of “lockdown” living did you appreciate at the time? Did you miss your routine? Your loved ones? Stimulation? How was your job affected? In those early weeks of the lockdown, how long did you expect your life to be significantly disrupted by the virus? How many people would you have guessed would die in your country? Did those expectations of length and severity color the way you have viewed the pandemic the rest of the way? At what point in the year did you feel optimism about the possibility of the virus getting under control soon? Mid-Summer? Early Autumn? Ever? How disappointed are you in the way things have gone? What would you say is your distribution of disappointment, anger, frustration, umbrage, fear, and sadness? How wildly does that distribution vary from day to day? At whom do you direct the bulk of your ire regarding the duration and depth of this fiasco? Elected officials? God/the Universe? Regular folks not following the basic safety rules? Does your answer vary from day to day on that one as well? When I look back now over this letter to you and how I have described life in the last year, I see words like muted, disappointed, desperate, bizarre, dimmed, wasteful, sick-and-tired, frozen in time, tentative, slow, quiet, solitary, halfway, sad, and surreal. What adjectives come to your mind when you think about your lifestyle of the past year? Ten or twenty years from now, how do you think you will look back on this time? Will this have been the worst year of your life? Where are you with it right now? Does the presence of the vaccine, even if you haven’t received it yet, make you more impatient about getting back to the life you once had? What are the things you will try to keep from this COVID lifestyle? If you could give some advice to the person you were one year ago about how to make the best of the year that would come, what would you say? If you are like me and mostly feel like you have been robbed of a year on Earth, what will you do differently when we finally emerge from the pandemic to either make up for lost time or just make the best use of the time you have left? What is the most important lesson you have learned? Leave me a reply and let me know: What will you take away from your year with the coronavirus?

Onward and upward,

William

P.S. If this letter resonated with you today, please share it with your community. We must learn in order to grow!

P.P.S. If you like to examine your life both broadly and deeply, consider purchasing my book, Journal Of YOU: Uncovering The Beauty That Is Your Truth, at your favorite online retailers. Namaste.

Shackles Or The Meaning Of Life: How Do You View Your Responsibilities?

“Nothing shapes your life more than the commitments you choose to make.” –Rick Warren, The Purpose-Driven Life

“Commitment…something which is loved and hated in equal measure.” –Kiran Joshi

Hello friend,

I have been the bad guy at my house lately. Fun-killer. Mean Dad. Wet blanket. All of that stuff. Me.

You see, my wife really wants a dog. She spends her free time researching the countless different designer breeds and pulls up pictures of each one to share with my kids so they can all “OOH” and “AHH” together. Because of course the kids want a dog, too. What kid doesn’t? My wife knows this and plays the situation like a maestro. It gets mentioned in any interaction with family or friends. More inquiries are made. More photos. “OOH!” “AHH!”

I, meanwhile, have not budged from my position. I do not want a dog. Don’t get me wrong: I like dogs. I really do. I love their energy, their loyalty, their playfulness, their goodness. I grew up with dogs and loved all of them. I see how much other people love their dogs, too, how much they are truly a part of the family. I understand their value. And honestly, I know I would be best pals with a dog if I had one.

But, I don’t want one. I never have, in all of my adult life. It boils down to one thing: RESPONSIBILITY.

Perhaps a brief, adulthood-only autobiography would make this stance easier to understand about me. In my twenties, I didn’t spend a single day wanting to be married, wanting to have kids, or wanting a pet. I was deep into my personal development and cultivating ideas to make the world a better place to live. I had no interest in being “tied down,” even though I was in love the last few years of that decade. When I hit 30, I finally surrendered to the idea of being a husband and father. The decision didn’t come easily, as I was so deeply happy and at peace without the long-term commitments and responsibilities that I questioned the wisdom of trading that for the more conventional life that everyone else seemed to go in for. I wondered if I was just not wired for it—full disclosure: I still have that wonder way down underneath it all–and would at some point crack in the face of all that obligation and selflessness. Still, I made the choice to dive in, knowing that it was not just marriage that I was signing up for but marriage with children. Two, not more. I had accepted a cat into the deal before the kids came along. When he died when they were young, I decided he was easy enough to care for that getting a replacement was okay. But that’s it. No more. No more kids, no more animals, no more spouses. With all of them plus a home to take care of, that was my absolute limit. I needed some room for myself, too.

Now, with the cat 13 and the kids 12 and 10, I am still walking that tightrope. I am all-in on the husband and fatherhood deal, but I have also carved out enough space to still feel like a unique human being instead of being swallowed whole by my responsibilities. However, I am also well-aware of the daily sacrifices of the personal, soul-feeding stuff I would otherwise like to do and had done before this chapter in my life began. Even with that awareness, I can say concretely that I have made a good bargain in adding these guys to my world, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. I love my life and appreciate the choices I have made, the responsibilities I have taken on. I am the family man.

Enter the dog proposition.

I understand that it probably seems like the logical next step. I have the house and the yard. My wife can help. The kids are theoretically at an age where they can feed it, walk it, and scoop the poop. And dogs are cool. It sounds like a slam dunk.

And yet, everything in my independent soul is screaming, “NO WAY!” It stresses me just to think about it. I picture that cute little guy and think, “Sorry buddy, it’s not you. It’s me.” Because it is. It’s totally me.

I simply don’t want any more responsibilities. Well, at least not of the large and long-term variety. I want to be a wonderful, totally devoted father who spends as much time with his kids as they allow, all the way until they grow up and move away. I want to be good to my cat (who, of course I know, is much less demanding than a dog). I want to be a devoted husband. I want to keep my home maintained, the bills paid, and my family doted upon. I want to be great in all those roles. But then I don’t want any other roles. I don’t want to be the guy anybody else counts on for any daily—or even weekly—needs. Quite simply, I would rather give that time and energy to myself.

That sounds really selfish as I write it, giving me a twinge of guilt and making me wonder if I have somehow taken a wrong turn from my basic humanity. But the pause is brief, the guilt fleeting. Through journal entries and endless hours of pondering over the course of a lifetime, I know who I am and what works for my energy supply. I am clear about my needs, and all of my senses are fine-tuned to detect when things become even slightly off-balance.

I have a serious thing with BOUNDARIES. If I meet someone whose energies do not match up with mine—I don’t even have to know exactly why; I go with the feeling—I do not allow them any room in my world. Similarly, I fiercely protect my time. If I am told going into a job that I am required to be there exactly these days at these times, I am a loyal and committed soldier. But the moment they start saying, “No, we actually need you to come in more often and at different times than we agreed to,” my loyalty and enthusiasm go right out the window. Don’t mess with my time. Every single minute of it is precious to me.

I can see that this fierce guardianship of my time and energy is behind my unwillingness to add more deep, long-term responsibilities in the form of offspring or pets or spouses [I know it is not exactly the same line of thinking—because believe me, my wife does not need me to take care of her–but I would lump a spouse in with kids and pets here. If my wife finds some trick to be rid of me along the way, I cannot imagine myself wanting to get married or otherwise legally bound to someone again. I will happily take this commitment to the end, but then I’m good.]. I know that there are still things I want to do in my life. There are places I want to travel, things I want to write, and solitude I want to bask in. These are daydreams that don’t involve responsibilities and obligations to others. I don’t want to have to worry about finding places where my dog can stay in the room or campsite with me, or all of the logistical adjustments I have to make in order to travel with kids. And I don’t want to feel the guilt about leaving the dog or the kids with other people and both missing out on what they are doing and hating that they are missing out on the memories I am making without them. I don’t want any of that baggage. I want some freedom. Freedom while I am still young enough to enjoy it and make something out of it.

I think about all of the childless-by-choice adults and the way people tend to think about them. We like to think they are selfish or, at the least, just not wise enough to understand what they are missing out on. They don’t get it. Unlike those of us who have chosen to be parents, these self-centered hedonists can’t wrap their minds around the magical equation that, despite all of the diapers, tantrums, sleep-deprivation, financial drain, time drain, headaches, heartaches, and stress that children bring (in a single day even, but also all through life), despite all of that, kids still somehow come out on the plus side of Life’s ledger and make every day with them worthwhile. If only these egotists could understand that, they would do the right thing and procreate, like us. After judging them, we come to feel bad for them, sentenced as they are to a life of relative emptiness. I think dog owners carry some of that sentiment for those of too short-sighted to get a dog or too uncommitted and therefore settle upon a love-withholding feline. I understand where they are coming from; there is no love and loyalty quite like a dog’s for its owner. We should want that for others, right?

This is why I have to fight off the internal nudge to feel bad about myself for not wanting a dog (or, at one point, more kids). Not because I don’t know how much more rich and rewarding life can be through our relationships with those we take responsibility for, but because I do.

I think it speaks to the strength of my boundaries and the strength of my conviction about what is truly essential for my unique journey through Life. I know not only some of the things I want to do, but perhaps more importantly, I know how I want to feel.

I want to feel free. Unburdened. Unencumbered. Unfettered. Unchecked. Unbound. Free.

Not now. Now I want this deep dive into my kids’ world and all of the magic and fulfillment that complete investment in others’ lives brings. But later on, when that passes, then I want the unburdening, the liberation from responsibility, and a re-investment in my own life and the part of my path that meanders away from the others.

After the blessings of this golden age of parenthood move on, I will be eager to get back to my old priorities from my twenties—self-improvement work in the physical, emotional, and spiritual realms—as well as the many new ventures and adventures I have been dreaming of in these last many years of responsibility. I want to travel more, and more spontaneously. I want to read and write more. I want my “free time” to actually be free. It is not that I want to abandon people (and pets) altogether—though I have my moments—but rather just the responsibility for them.

I like the idea of having a few distinct stages of my life’s journey, with different governing philosophies for each. I understand that it is all one flow, but I appreciate that the map of my journey shows clear forks in the road, with my chosen path obvious from the historical record, but with the paths untaken also clear from what I consciously gave up to follow the ones taken. I hope it continues that way. All lives can look that way if examined closely enough, but this one is mine, and because I have journaled all the way through it, I have been keenly aware of its contours as I have co-created them with the Universe. I love to read, listen to, or watch a good life story. There is nothing more fascinating or entertaining to me. I hope that if I keep my priorities and my boundaries tight and clear, that my story will someday be one that I enjoy watching in the rearview mirror. I hope that I will have loved and cared for others long enough and deep enough in my “responsibility years” that I will have no regrets about staking such a firm claim upon my “freedom years.” From this position midway through, I would say it all looks pretty darn beautiful.

How about you? How do you see the responsibilities and commitments you have taken on in life? Open up your journal and be honest with yourself. What feelings arise when you think about the characters (both human and animal) that you claimed responsibility for in this world? Whether you are in the midst of your biggest commitments (e.g. to young children, to employees, to dogs) or are looking back on them, what is your range of feelings? How much love do they fill you with? How much pride? Do they inspire you to be better and uplift you in your darker moments? How much humor do they provide you with? Have you found a certain freedom within those responsibilities (I think of the Indigo Girls line from Power of Two: “The closer I’m bound in love to you, the closer I am to free.”)? Do your responsibilities provide the foundation for your life, an emotional home base? In the end, are the people you are or have been responsible for the true meaning of life? What would your life be like without those you are responsible for? On the other end of the emotional spectrum, how heavy is the weight of your responsibility? How much stress do your obligations bring you? To what degree do they dictate your happiness and overall well-being? Does that seem healthy to you? How often do you feel hints (or torrents) of bitterness or resentment toward those you are responsible for because of the weight of that responsibility? Is the resentment fleeting or lasting? Do you ever wish you had not made these enormous commitments? What do you do with that feeling? How much different is a spouse/life partner relationship than that of children and pets when it comes to providing meaning to a life? What does having one another’s back mean compared to being truly responsible for another’s well-being? Is it the difference of being responsible to and responsible for? Which type of responsibility suits your personality better? Are you able to see your life in specific chapters or seasons, defined in large part by your responsibilities at the time? Do they tend to be good and bad in different ways but hard to evaluate overall in terms of what you liked better or what you would prefer to happen in your upcoming chapters, or is it very clear to you that your next chapter(s) should be defined one way or the other? Will you steer your next chapter toward or away from responsibility and commitments to others? If you want to spend more time and energy on yourself, do you feel any guilt about that? Are you satisfied with how much you have done for others in your lifetime? Would you choose the same commitments again if you had a chance to live it all over again? Would you go with more or fewer? What is the best thing you can do for yourself going forward? How do you wish to feel in your next chapter? How is that different than the other eras of your adulthood? What will you carry with you from your current obligations? Leave me a reply and let me know: How do you view your responsibilities?

Make it All beautiful,

William

P.S. If this one resonated with you, please share it with your community. We are One!

P.P.S. If this combination of introspection and storytelling appeals to you, consider buying my book, Journal of YOU: Uncovering The Beauty That Is Your Truth, at your favorite online retailers. Namaste.

Thanks, 2020! Personal Firsts, Bests, & Discoveries From A Year Like No Other

“Life is about accepting the challenges along the way, choosing to keep moving forward, and savoring the journey.” –Roy T. Bennett, A Light In The Heart

“The only way that we can live, is if we grow. The only way that we can grow is if we change. The only way that we can change is if we learn. The only way we can learn is if we are exposed. And the only way that we can become exposed is if we throw ourselves out into the open. Do it. Throw yourself.” –C. JoyBell C.

Hello friend,

I felt like a 90-year-old who couldn’t figure out how to get the remote control to play the movie. I was on the phone with the Apple guy, stressed out and flummoxed, trying to learn how I could get my CDs to play in the new laptop I was considering buying. “Why in the world wouldn’t it come with a disc drive? How will I load all of my CDs into iTunes? How will I burn the next album I rent from the library? Surely I’m not alone here, am I, young genius person? How else will I listen to my precious music????” “Umm, well sir, you could just stream it.” “Pay for music? No way! No….well, how would that work?”

Suspicious but intrigued by this sorcery he was explaining, I hung up the phone and called a couple of my friends who actually live in the modern world. When one told me that he subscribes to Spotify Premium, I asked him how he plays all of his CDs that were the soundtrack of our many cross-country roadtrips a few decades ago (you know, when CDs were the newest, coolest technology). “I sold them all on eBay,” he said, crushing my soul in one sentence. How could you just dispose of those priceless archives of your life??? So, I called my other modern-yet-more-nostalgic friend. She guided me through my fears, starting with a cost analysis: the cost of Apple Music for a month is the same as the cost of one CD. But how do I get new albums when they are released? I still need to buy them, right? “They’re free. They just show up on the release date.” I didn’t believe her. “Okay, name me a new album you would want?” Indigo Girls: Look Long. She looked it up: “Yep, it’s there. I can listen to it right now if I want. And anything else I want. Anything.”

I was like a living, breathing version of the “Mind Blown” emoji. I was stupefied by this new reality. No CDs? My whole world felt like it was coming apart. But that stupor only lasted for a few minutes, the part when I was intellectualizing it all, thinking through plan options and credit card numbers. After that, when I actually activated the free trial, well, then my whole world felt like it was opening up. Wide! All of this blessed inspiration was suddenly right at my fingertips. I couldn’t get it in my ears fast enough. Before the day was over, I had created several new playlists and downloaded hundreds of albums. I was the proverbial kid in a candy store. Honestly, as someone who is absolutely nutty about music, it felt like the discovery of a lifetime. I was in Heaven! Just so cool.

That day, lying on that hammock with my headphones on and my devices all aglow, with that music filling up my entire soul, was a total game-changer. It was mid-2020—the height of the coronavirus pandemic, social unrest over racial injustice, and a crumbling economy—but all of those things that have become the year’s headlines suddenly had to share space in my heart and mind with something new and beautiful and, well, cool. I don’t think a day has passed in the ensuing months that I haven’t been on Apple Music, granting myself that little space to both escape from this world and to be inspired to build a better one. It is one of the things I will always remember 2020 for, and probably the one for which I will always be most grateful.

But it’s definitely not the only cool thing I learned or tried this year. It’s not even the only eye-opener for me in the world of technology and media. No, I got even further out of my old man mode when we finally cut the cable cord at my house. My wife had been cursing the cable company for years. I always watched the least amount of anything in my family, so I had no opinions. However, when we got Netflix and Prime Video a couple years ago, I was intrigued by this streaming thing but just never found much time to watch anything. When doing my cardio workouts in the gym, I always read books on my tablet. However, when the gyms closed in March and my workouts moved home, watching Netflix as I rode the treadmill became my new thing. I loved it. Later, when we finally cut ties with the cable company and took on Hulu, Sling, Disney+, ESPN+, and Apple TV+, I was in the mode of wanting more material for my workout hours. It was a revelation! Bravo, streaming services!

There is really some wonderful stuff out there. The artists are clearly in full bloom with all of these new outlets. I have found that I love documentaries. I have watched several good ones on different topics—from Bill Gates to Greta Thunberg–but find that I keep coming back to films that cover music and musicians, particularly those who were involved in the revolution of the 1960s. I just finished two fascinating ones about The Band—Once Were Brothers and The Last Waltz—but have also been captivated by pieces about Keith Richards, the artists who lived in Los Angeles’s Laurel Canyon in the sixties, and Sam Cooke, among others. I have dozens more on my watchlists.

Of the non-documentary things I have watched, a few of my favorites from this year are When They See Us, Schitt’s Creek, and The Trial Of The Chicago 7. There are so many more that intrigue me, but I know my chances of getting to them are slim. I am grateful for what I have seen, and grateful to 2020 for opening my eyes to so many wonderful works of art.

Whenever I watch a movie or TV show, though, it comes with a measure of guilt that I am ignoring the many brilliant books in the world. I did, however, find one released this Autumn that has stayed with me in the weeks since I have finished it. It is Greenlights, by the actor Matthew McConaughey. I was drawn to it because I learned that, like me, he has kept journals for all of his adult life, and the book used many of the insights he gained in writing them over the years. I have never been particularly drawn to McConaughey as an actor and so was otherwise skeptical going in, but I found myself captivated by his tales and the wisdom he drew from them. It is my favorite literary discovery of this year.

While I doubt I will ever be anyone’s favorite literary discovery, I did have a Journal of You highlight this Summer, albeit coming not from something I wish I had to write about. By many times over, more people than ever showed up to read and share my piece called “But I’m Not a Racist!” And Other Things We White Folks Need To Do Better. It came on the heels of the George Floyd murder, as the protests were getting into full swing. I certainly appreciated the positive feedback and was glad I could contribute to something so important.

I never know when something I write will resonate, but that moment in American history seemed to sweep so many of us up with it, and rightly so. In addition to writing a couple of pieces on it, the George Floyd murder brought me to another significant first in my life: my first real protest. I wasn’t in the throngs of people downtown getting teargassed or anything so dramatic, but I did bring my children to a local event where we got to lift our signs and our voices in a show of solidarity with our community against police violence and racial injustice. It was moving for me and hopefully something of a precursor for more social activism, both for me in my later years and for my children for the rest of their long and precious lives.

I spent more of 2020 than any other year on the seat of a bicycle. That seems a strange record, but it is true. With fewer “play” options for my kids, we took so many more rides on the streets of our town. I also got more into mountain biking at local trails; that was tremendously invigorating. Then, as Fate would have it, I sustained an injury that would not allow me to walk, run, or play sports. That would normally drive me to the nuthouse, but in a stroke of luck, I discovered that I was still able to ride a bicycle. Early mornings in Summer and Autumn were spent pedaling out the miles on the quiet streets in the surrounding towns. It was a delightful release to drink in that fresh air and still be able to sweat amidst my other physical limitations. When the days shortened and chilled, I got myself an indoor bike to sweat away the Winter. While I miss the fresh air and the lakes and trees, the workout is fantastic and much-needed. Perhaps I won’t need the riding so much in other years when my body is more cooperative, but I am so grateful to have found it and made it a big part of my life.

Speaking of that fresh air and those lakes and trees, my last, best discovery of this year was about spending time outside and having more adventures. Maybe this one qualifies more as a re-covery, since I have had it and lost it more than once in my many years on this planet. I feel like the year has left me more committed than ever to design my remaining years around being outdoors and exploring the beauty of Mother Earth. Most of my social media scrolling this year has been on the pages of National Parks and travel sites. I don’t think a single day has gone by when I haven’t added to my itinerary and fantasies for my next trip to Glacier country in Northwest Montana, and I have plotted adventures all across the American West, from Utah’s “Mighty Five” parks to the Sierra Nevadas of California and the Cascade Range in the Northwest. I have developed plans for overnights and weekends near home as well, with lots of hiking and sleeping in the pine-fresh air to the sounds of the forest and rippling streams.

Even as much of a Winter-hater as I am, my Christmas gifts this week included new snowshoes, trekking poles, fleeces, and a backpack (and I am even planning my next car and its necessary adventure accessories). I am more determined than ever to be an active participant in the outdoor activities of every season. Maybe I was coming to that anyway in my life’s evolution, or maybe 2020’s message of “Stay Home & Cover Your Breath” only served to stir up my natural resistance to being contained, or maybe it is some combination of the two. In any case, I now know in a deeper place that being in Nature is one of my greatest inspirations and an absolutely necessary fuel to get me through the rest of the world’s obligations and nonsense. It is both my escape and my spiritual home. I am relieved to know that so clearly now.

I guess most discoveries and favorites are like that: something outside of us—music, books, blogs, bicycles, and mountain streams—lights up something inside of us. They give our existence meaning and value. They buoy us against the storms of Life and make historically bad years seem pretty darn good after all. They are the source of our Gratitude and thus our Happiness. I am deeply grateful that there are so many of these points of light in my life, no matter the year. Don’t get me wrong: I’m not saying I want to do 2020 all over again! But I know that it brought me many gifts, and I refuse to look past them just because they arrived on the same train as COVID, racism, and political folly. I am grateful for this year and the many new things I know and love because I lived through it.

How about you? What are the coolest things you learned or tried in 2020? Open up your journal and your spirit and expose what the light let in this year. First, what new things did you learn? If you had extra time in the house, did you pick up any home improvement skills (e.g. Marie Kondo organizing, carpentry, plumbing)? How about personal improvement skills, like learning a language or a musical instrument? Did you learn how to be a teacher? Did you learn some new technology tricks, like how to Zoom? Did anything blow your mind? What did you try for the first time this year? New foods? New fitness routines? Online grocery shopping? Something outdoorsy? Did you do anything social justice-related this year that you had never previously been so moved to do, like a protest or a sign in your yard? How about with politics: did the extreme divisions among this year’s election issues and candidates spur you to participate in ways that you hadn’t before? Were most of the new things you tried in 2020 related to things specific to this year—being on lockdown, COVID, Trump drama, etc.—or were they more random and could have happened any year? Which of them will you continue with even when things return to whatever “normal” looks like to you? Now to the Arts. What musical styles or artists did you discover this year, whether they were new or just new to you? What was the best thing you watched on television? What were your favorite 2020 movies? Books? Did you try anything unique to get Art in unconventional ways, like attending a virtual theatre performance, concert, or museum tour? What else did you love? Did you have any personal bests this year? Did you excel at anything at your work? Did you improve upon a hobby or passion project? Were you a better friend, sibling, parent, co-worker, or ally? Did you find you were great at the self-care this year demanded? Finally, what did you discover about yourself this year? What issue or passion might you have had only a hint at before this year but now have a clear position on? Do you have a core belief that has changed? Do you know what you want to do more of (and less of) going forward? Are you clear that there are some people in your life who you need to distance yourself from? Are there others you would like to cultivate a deeper relationship with? How have you grown in the last year? Leave me a reply and let me know: What are the coolest things you have done and discovered in 2020?

Seek out the light,

William

P.S. If this resonated with you, please share it with your community. Let’s chase the bright spots together!

P.P.S. If this way of reflection and introspection appeals to your way of being, consider buying my book Journal Of YOU: Uncovering The Beauty That Is Your Truth, at your favorite online retailers. Namaste.

What Always Brings Tears To Your Eyes?

“Those who do not weep, do not see.” –Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

“Tears are words that need to be written.” –Paulo Coelho

Hello friend,

Last weekend I attended my first virtual funeral. I don’t ever go to real funerals. It is just not my jam, for many reasons. However, this one had me especially intrigued, and since it was over Zoom, I figured that I could escape whenever I wanted. My commitment was minimal. I was drawn to this particular memorial not because I was so close with the deceased—indeed, we didn’t know each other well at all and hadn’t seen each other in years—but because of my sense of who he was (perhaps a kindred spirit) and the wide variety of lives I imagined that he had touched in his too-brief stay on this Earth. I knew that he was special, and I wanted to see how that presented itself in this final farewell. And honestly, I wanted a little more of him. I am sure we all did.

Throughout the service, which was designed to pack in as many different voices and testimonials as possible from the lives he touched along the way, I discovered a pattern in my emotional state: when the speaker was dry-eyed, I was dry-eyed; when the speaker cried, I cried. It never failed. Oh sure, I cried at a few other times, too, like when they showed a picture of him and my daughter when she was a baby or a picture of him and my wife smiling together. Those got me. But otherwise, it was a pretty safe bet that when I witnessed weeping, I wept.

I have come to know that pattern about myself over the years. When raw emotion is in front of me—especially crying but beyond that as well, even in Joy—I am an instant puddle. After studying myself through my journals for this long, I have come to chalk this characteristic up to the same Empathy that has shaped so much of my worldview, including my politics and spirituality. When I witness someone deep in feeling, it just seems to channel directly into my heart. I am powerfully moved in an instant. It can be a problem, but I mostly appreciate it. I like to be reminded occasionally that I have not hardened myself too much against this world that is so full of slings and arrows. I am still raw and affected. That is alright with me, especially the part of me that wants to remain an artist and a warrior for justice until the day I die. As long as I keep having authentic interactions with people and absorbing their genuine emotions, I am going to be a weeper.

But when else? Other than diving headlong into others’ drama, what are the other moments that get my tears going?

If you have been with Journal of You for a while—whether through these regular letters or just the book—you know that I spend a fair amount of time obsessing about Death and Legacy, the importance of my impact and what I will leave behind. I am so grateful that I have not yet had to face many deaths of those closest to me; I have always been lucky in that department. But it doesn’t stop my active imagination from running wild with images of that loss. I don’t mean scenes of graphic violence or horrific accidents; my mind does not go there. It does, however, go often to thoughts of learning of their loss or having the difficult conversations about life without them. I picture things like hearing about my child’s (or sister’s or mother’s) death or explaining my wife’s death to my children. Vivid scenes that sweep me away and leave me tear-stained.

Those daydreams, however, are nothing compared to the ones in which I am the one dying (usually of cancer) and have to communicate that with my wife and, even more often, my kids. Somehow, I seem to fall into this awful habit when I am driving alone. I think about making videos for them to watch when I am gone, on occasions like birthdays, graduations, or weddings, messages from their father who would be so proud of them and wish he were there. I make big speeches, often out loud in my car, by the end of which I am full-on sobbing, hardly able to see the road through my gushing eyes. By the time I realize what I am doing, I am practically panting in despair. It is embarrassing. It is that idea of leaving my family, though, that I simply cannot abide. That is a guaranteed tear-jerker.

Speaking of leaving my family, I am pretty quick to get weepy in saying goodbye to my parents and siblings after our too-infrequent visits. I try to fight it by rushing through the process, but by the time I hit the gas pedal to drive away, I am mush. Even though we all get frustrated with my Dad for doing it, sometimes I envy him for his habit of just sneaking off before the goodbye part of the visits. If we have gone to his house to stay for a holiday, he always manages to be “at work” when it comes time for us to leave town. If we meet up with him at the cabin and we are all planning to leave the same day, he gets up early and gets on the road before anyone realizes it is time to go. It’s pretty weasel-y, but at least he doesn’t have to face the emotion of goodbye. He leaves that for the rest of us, most of whom are pretty teary about it. I don’t really get that way with goodbyes with other people outside the family, but that is why family is family. It’s just deeper. I know I will be awful about it when my kids are grown.

I have a terrible time reading out loud, too, without crying. This happens with sad stories, of course. I still read to my daughter every night before bed, and it is highlight of my day, but I occasionally struggle to keep it together. I can laugh now at my attempts a few years ago to get through Where The Red Fern Grows with her, but it was a choking, teary mess at the time. Any sentimental message read aloud can get me, though, like a card or a Facebook post that I am sharing with my wife. It happens with my own writing, too, especially things about my feelings for loved ones. I sometimes read my work aloud to myself before publishing it, just to see if it flows, and I have definitely found myself in a puddle of tears on more than one occasion.

Likewise, I can envision wanting to say something at my parents’ funerals but just not being able to. I am one of those criers who simply cannot speak through the process. The emotion stabs me like a knife, and it’s like my air is just gone. I tried to say a few words about my grandfather during the visitation the night before his funeral, and it was a sobby, chokey, mostly silent mess.

Strangely, I have occasionally fancied the idea of being a television news reporter or anchor, probably a poor fit for a guy who cries when sharing almost any impactful story. It was more acceptable when I was studying to be an actor, which, now that I think of it, is probably how I fell into the habit of imagining all of those dramatic scenes I mentioned above that so regularly slay me in the car. I guess I am drawn to sharing the Truth of any situation—whether my own or of those whose stories need hearing—even if that sharing brings me to tears.

As I come to recognize that realization, I am reminded of my tendency to tear up—not sob, but just get “watery eyes”—in just about any direct, intimate conversation (typically one-on-one). I can recall so many conversations, especially ones concerning my loved ones or my own work—things like parent-teacher conferences and job interviews—when the eye-to-eye and the intimacy itself seems to draw the water involuntarily up to my eyes, even when seemingly inappropriate. As I said, it is not weeping in the usual sense—I am not breaking down emotionally in these otherwise-normal moments, just tearing up a bit (which can cause the normal to become slightly awkward, though people typically pretend not to notice). I chalk it up to sensitivity. I am a bit of a raw nerve, prone to really feel everything. It is just one of my idiosyncrasies. I roll with it.

I am not sure what it says about me, the things that bring me to tears and the regularity of them in my life. I tend to not judge it, not seeing it as either a particular strength or weakness. But is it? I kind of appreciate the cleansing nature of crying, but I don’t seek out opportunities for it (like I said, the dramatic driving scenes are not planned or even fully conscious, but rather just the result of getting swept up by my overactive imagination). I don’t have a strong desire to cry any more than I do now, though I would prefer not to have so much of the “watery eyes” in mundane, everyday conversations. I tend to see the source of my tears as an understanding of Love and the value of connection.

I also understand that I come at this topic as someone who is unusually blessed in my life circumstances and psychological make-up. I have been lucky all my life, with a healthy upbringing, a pleasant nuclear and extended family, always enough food on the table, with things I enjoy doing and people I enjoy spending time with (and, as I mentioned, I haven’t dealt with much death yet). My worldview is naturally optimistic, and I don’t struggle with anxiety or depression. I am resilient and self-confident, and I understand, thanks to my daily journaling, the minute details of what makes me tick. My mental health is in good shape. For all of these things, I am extremely lucky. I understand that if any one of them went the other way, my outlook on this topic of crying would likely be entirely different. I am grateful that most of my tears to this point have been healthy ones and from situations I could choose. I don’t ever cry because the world all seems too much for me, because I am stressed out or just can’t take one more thing working against me. I don’t cry because I hate my life or feel trapped or overburdened. I imagine those kinds of tears are pretty common in the world, and I know that Life still has many challenges remaining for me. A run of good luck doesn’t last forever.

This is part of why this topic is fascinating to me, and why I want to know your answer. It illustrates yet another way in which our stories are all different and thus why we need Empathy and Grace. Our tears, whether of Joy or Sadness or anything in between, reveal something special about us. No, reveal is the wrong word. Maybe indicate. The tears don’t tell the story. They merely indicate that there is something special worth digging into. Something deeper. Something worth the effort to understand and appreciate, because it is soul-level stuff, the kind that makes us who we are. For me, that means there is magic in those tears. The magic of our Truth. And I always, always, want to be a part of the Truth.

How about you? What always makes you cry? Open up your journal and your heart to explore the source and significance of those tears. What predictably makes you cry? Are your things specific events (e.g. a funeral, a break-up, a goodbye) or mental health-triggered issues (e.g. anxiety, depression, or the accumulation of Life just becoming too much sometimes)? What are the events that trigger you? Are they obviously heavy hitters, like death, or are they more subtle things? Who are the people usually associated with your tears? Has it been the same people all your life? How often are the these “people tears” due to how much you love them, and how often are they due to these people wronging you? Is that a healthy ratio? How do you do with goodbyes? What about books and movies (I’m a big movie crier)? Do you have any memories that always bring tears with them? Are those good memories or bad ones? How often do you cry tears of Joy? What other emotions make you cry? How often do ordinary, everyday life situations bring tears to your eyes? What kinds of conversations do it? Do you cry at the sight of others crying or suffering? How empathetic are you? Do you think your Empathy rating dictates how much you cry in response to others’ pain? Do you ever wonder about the source of your tears, their true trigger? What do your tears actually say about what is going on deep down inside you? Are they revealing of something you haven’t yet addressed and need to dig into? Do you need help with that? Do you believe your crying to be mostly a healthy sign, or a sign of problems? Do you usually feel better afterward? Do you wish you cried more often or less often? Which topics give you your best cries? Leave me a reply and let me know: What always brings tears to your eyes?

Be free,

William

P.S. If today’s topic resonated with you, please share it. We could all use a release from time to time.

P.P.S. If this way of introspection appeals to you, consider buying my book, Journal of YOU: Uncovering The Beauty That Is Your Truth, at your favorite online retailers.

Reasons To BE THANKFUL

“Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.” –Marcel Proust

“We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorns have roses.” –Alphonse Karr, A Tour Round My Garden

“Acknowledging the good that you already have in your life is the foundation for all abundance.” –Eckhart Tolle

Hello friend,

Happy Thanksgiving! I arose this morning with a welcome lightness in my heart. The weather here promises to allow for a pleasant walk down by the lake before I plop my butt down at the table (and the sofa, and the rocker, etc.) to gorge upon the culinary delights of the day. I am going to enjoy this holiday! After the all-time clunker that 2020 has been, I feel like I deserve that.

I mean, just think of all the things we have been through this year….NO! STOP! DON’T THINK OF THAT STUFF! That is not what this day is for. We don’t need to revisit that stuff today; it will be here waiting for us tomorrow. Today, let’s just focus on the good things in our lives, the things we really ought to be grateful for on a daily basis but sometimes forget to acknowledge because they are so much in our faces, so much the wallpaper of our lives. In this year when it is better that we not have a huge celebratory gathering, let’s muster up some huge Gratitude anyway.

I truly believe that Gratitude is the mother of Happiness. The way I see it, you just can’t get to any real, lasting Happiness unless you can acknowledge the blessings that surround you and permeate all that you do and all that you are. The ability to find a way to Gratitude no matter how your life looks is a rare and priceless gift, one that we should all strive for. I say we should begin today. Any day is a good day to choose Gratitude, but TODAY is always the best one. Not because it is Thanksgiving—which is a nice reminder, though, I admit—but rather because it is TODAY. NOW is always the best time to be more than who we have been. I want that. So, let us begin.

In this year when it was unwise to mingle outside of your household, I am so grateful for the three other people under my roof: my wife and kids. While we all have our moments of mess in all of these months of isolation, I can honestly say I would choose these guys to stay with if I had to do it all over again (which I might!). We are a team. A good one.

I am thankful for the fresh air and the ability to get outside and breathe it in. This year has had so much of “There’s nothing to do,” but my restless mind has been saved on so many days simply by getting out the door and feeling the air on my skin and in my lungs. Whether it is on a walk or bike ride around my neighborhood or swaying in my hammock as I stare up into the big trees and open sky, the option to get out and breathe it all in is often everything to me. I am grateful every time I am out there.

I am grateful for the other people in my life: my extended family, my friends, my co-workers, my social media community, and you. For the ones who have been my allies, either silently and vocally, I am more thankful than ever for them this year. And though some of us don’t always see eye-to-eye and have needed even more boundaries this year than ever to maintain our sanity—loving from a healthy distance has become a well-practiced skill—I am glad to know they are out there, and I truly wish the best for them. I am so pleased—and relieved, really—that after all of the political drama of this year and the (not always spoken) tension and strain it has brought into so many of my relationships, that I can sincerely wish them all health and happiness (and, of course, a more empathetic, liberal worldview!). I guess sometimes a simple lack of grudges and bitterness is a gift. Blessings come with many different faces; today I am thankful for all of them and the lessons they keep teaching me.

I am grateful for my health. I know people who have had COVID and been relatively unscathed by it, and I know people who have died from it, and many variations in between. It scares me, and I am so thankful that no one inside my house has had it. But it is not just the absence of COVID that I feel grateful for. I have struggled with an injury for much of this year that has limited my ability to move freely and to enjoy many of the things I love to do. That has made me acutely aware of the things I can still do and has made me grateful for each improvement I have made on my way back to health. I am truly delighted to be able to do the things I can do.

I am grateful for writing. Both my daily journal entries and these occasional letters to you provide me with some much-needed clarity and sanity. That is certainly the case this year, but I can say the same every year. It is my escape from “reality” but simultaneously my access to Truth. I am thankful for it every day.

Lastly, I am grateful for days like today that are meant to give me both the time and the reminder to be thankful. While it is nice, on an ordinary day of the year, to bring my awareness into a moment and find myself smiling or feeling a wave of positive energy all around me, it is so much better when I can extend that awareness to the reasons for my Joy and for the lightness in my being. This day is all about that awareness. It reminds me of the things that I need to seek out more of in my life. I appreciate both the reminder and the lightness of being.

How about you? What are you grateful for today? Open up your journal and your heart. What comes to mind first when you think about your greatest blessings on this day? Is it a person, an object, something you do, a state of being, or something else? Are you aware of your gifts often enough throughout the year, or is this the day that makes you fully conscious? Of the things you are most grateful for, what can you do throughout the year to bring more of them into your life? How can you become more grateful? A Gratitude journal? Prayer? A Gratitude jar? Regular journaling? Is it just a matter of changing your lenses and focusing on the right thing, the roses rather than the thorns? What method will you start with? Leave me a reply and let me know: What are your reasons to be thankful today?

Happy Thanksgiving,

William

P.S. If this resonated with you today, please share it. Spread Gratitude!

P.P.S. If this way of questioning yourself and discovering your light appeals to you, consider buying my book, Journal of YOU: Uncovering The Beauty That Is Your Truth, at your favorite online retailer. Namaste.

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