Category Archives: Parenthood

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.

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.

What Has Surprised You Most About LIFE?

“I know enough of the world now to have almost lost the capacity of being much surprised by anything.” –Charles Dickens, David Copperfield

“But better to get hurt by the truth than comforted with a lie.” –Khaled Hosseini

Hello friend,

Watching the news lately is a horrifying experience for me. A couple nights ago, I was listening to the anchor detail the skyrocketing number of hospitalizations and deaths due to COVID-19 all across America, leading some states to begin to place restrictions on schools and businesses, as well as announce mask mandates and recommendations for gathering sizes. The next story relayed the pushback from the new restrictions, including the angry, sometimes-gun-wielding protesters refusing to wear masks, claiming their rights are being violated by having to cover their nose and mouth before entering places like the grocery store (or the hospital where their loved ones are dying from COVID).

My first reaction was to wonder which story was more sad. Because seriously, a quarter of a MILLION dead Americans is a truly depressing thing to consider, especially when you know it didn’t have to be this way. But how about those anti-maskers, demanding the right to harm their community members because they don’t want to be inconvenienced? I couldn’t help but be captivated by these folks and their line of reasoning, such a sucker am I for a peak into how others view the world we all share.

So I started thinking of other things these folks probably do in the course of their daily routines that are the same as you or I do, none of us ever wondering why or protesting the oppression of it all. I am guessing most of those people who won’t be shackled by the oppressive mask probably put on a shirt and shoes before they enter a store. They probably cover up their genitals with a swimsuit or other clothing at the public pool or beach, even on really hot days. I would bet that they stay reasonably close to the speed limit when they drive, or at least slow enough that they keep control of the car and not hurt themselves or anybody else. They probably even wear a seatbelt, follow the rules of the road, and have auto insurance, all things designed to protect oneself and the people around you. I do all of those things, and I am guessing you do, too. I haven’t seen any protests about those fascist speed limits lately. No gun-toting folks storming the state capitol building about those pesky indecent exposure laws. Not even anyone plotting to kidnap the governor over that dictatorial “No Shirt No Shoes No Service” policy the stores continue to enforce.

And yet, that mask. That thin layer of cloth covering the nose and mouth in a global pandemic of a respiratory virus. Yes, that is a bridge too far for these folks. That is the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back, the hill they choose to die on. The utter absurdity of this is staggering to me.

REALLY, PEOPLE? REALLY??????????

This whole thought exercise, besides just making me sad and angry, serves as an unpleasant reminder of how, despite myriad examples over the years, I am continually floored by how petty and ignorant grown folks tend to be throughout their lives. I say it floors me, but it shouldn’t, because, as I said, I have seen it over and over as I have aged. I think its power to shock me must be in its historical place in my mind.

You see, growing up, like most kids, I was taught to respect adults and do what they say. I never wanted to disappoint a teacher, coach, principal, neighbor, or even a friend’s parent. Somewhere in that superstructure of respect, I guess I unconsciously bestowed upon all adults a lofty presumption of maturity and moral superiority. I believed that with all of those years under their belts, they must be highly evolved beings, sure to make the wisest decisions, with everyone’s best interests at heart.

It seems that most generations, as they seek out their independence and navigate their late teens and twenties, begin to question those who came before them and attempt to buck the system a bit. I had some of that in those years. However, it is only as I have aged, especially as I moved into my thirties and forties and watched my own generation move into full-fledged adulthood and my parents’ generation move to senior status, that I have come face-to-face with the frightening reality that folks don’t really mature all that much. There is a suffocating normalcy to pettiness and small-mindedness. Ignorance persists. I find myself often comparing people in their forties, sixties, even eighties to high school students or elementary students. Stunted. (Sadly, I have also been amazed at how much mental illness is out there, and I know that plays into some of this stuntedness.)

Even after studying adults for decades, this immaturity is still hard to wrap my mind around. It has probably been my single biggest surprise about this thing called Life. I totally had it wrong from how I thought things worked when I was a kid. It may be the biggest, but it’s not the only thing that has come to surprise me. And I don’t mean about my own life; I definitely had that journey mapped out wrong in my head, too, though. I mean Life—capital L—in general. The way of the world. How things are. You know: Life.

I suppose it is fitting that I guessed wrong about the wisdom and maturity of adults, because I also have been surprised, as I have aged, to learn how “young” a person feels inside (the spirit, the mind, etc.) when she gets old. I remember decades ago, my Grandma Jeanne once telling me how she still felt like a kid and had felt that way all of her life long (and she seemed so old to me then). I didn’t get it at all and assumed she was the lone exception. My 75-year-old mother talks the same way now, and I can feel that in her. Heck, I still feel my young self inside my nearly half-century-old shell, despite all these extra scars and wrinkles from a full life lived. I’m still silly. I still want to play sports and have adventures and eat candy. I think my spirit might even feel more free now than then.

When I was young, adults always seemed old; I didn’t think I could relate to them. Now I am that age, AND I work with a lot of kids, and I can tell that they are thinking the same thing about me. I want to have real conversations with them—feeling myself near to their age and in touch with what they are going through—and they are not the least bit interested. I am often reminded of my old teachers and coaches; they must have felt as frustrated and disappointed as I do now. We feel like it was just yesterday when we were that age and so of course we can relate to them, but they feel like we are not just a generation apart but rather eons. It is one giant missed opportunity in our culture (I tend to think that other cultures navigate this divide much better than we do).

That surprise about how young a person feels when she is old connects with my next surprise about Life: how astonishingly fast it moves. I did not see that coming at all when I was growing up! Along the same lines, I did not have any sense when I was young that Time goes faster the older you get, which, from my experience, it plainly does. I remember as a kid, when my parents said we had to wait two months until school was out or the next family trip or hockey season or whatever, it was like they were talking about some distant era when cars might be flying. That was so far in the future! The wait seemed unbearable. Similarly, when they talked about doing something when they were in high school, I could only picture that in black-and-white. Their life may as well have been with the dinosaurs. It was completely unrelatable to anything in my life. Meanwhile, even as a high schooler, ten years into the future seemed unimaginably far. Now I look at my kids and realize I have been a father for a dozen years and have had both of them for at least a decade. Where did that time go??? I feel for my parents, who are now wondering where the 50+ years went since they started having kids. I can already tell I will be pleading with Time to slow down for the rest of my life, begging for more of it as I approach my end. It just goes by so fast.

And even though I know that about Time intellectually, I still haven’t internalized it yet. I don’t think I am alone, either. We all seem shocked whenever we are confronted with another reminder from the calendar: when we turn another decade older, when our kids hit double digits, when we receive a graduation or wedding announcement in the mail from a “kid” we knew as an infant. This lesson about Time flying is one that seems to be an ongoing, until-the-day-you-die kind of surprise.

A whole new category of Life surprise for me has surrounded the stories our society grooms us on. I have been shocked to learn as an adult—often through my own research and critical thinking rather than anything suggested by the powers that be in media or government or even education—that almost all of these foundational stories are half-truths or outright falsehoods, and often quite fairy tale-ish in nature. As a kid who very much appreciated being thought of as on the winning team and one of the good guys, I totally ate up all of the wonderful, heroic things that American society tells its children not just about American history but also about Christianity (and religion in general). I find myself as an adult so often saying to myself things like, “Wow, we really have been a terrible people!” or, “How come I never learned that in school?” or, “How could any rational, clear-minded person truly believe that?”

I guess I hoped we were better than we have proven to be (in just about every way). It has surprised me how lowly-evolved we are. Human beings in groups are, on the whole, really horrible to each other and so very far from “enlightenment” in any aspect of our development. Given how lofty my beliefs were about us as a child, that has been a most unpleasant surprise. We are just not very good at any of it.

In examining all of these aspects of Life that have surprised me as I have aged, I notice that each of them is a disappointment, in varying degrees. That all by itself is pretty sad. Is that inevitable for a natural-born optimist like me? Are those of us who expect the best from people and from the world destined for disappointment? Maybe that is only for those of us who attempt to push past the superficiality of the stories we are told and look for the Truth in all matters. It may be more pleasant to believe only what suits us, but I think I will keep going for the Truth, even if it tends to rattle my foundation. I can evolve.

How about you? What has surprised you most about Life as you have aged? Open up your journal and take a deep dive into Existence and how you once imagined it to be. To begin with, how did you look at the world and the way things seemed to work when you were a kid? How did you view the adults in your world? How did you see authority figures? Did religion play a major role in how you understood the events of the world and your place in it? What role did your formal education play in your worldview? How did your heroes shape the way you saw your future? Did you believe that the way you grew up and the people around you were “normal” and basically the way things were everywhere else? What was your impression of people in general? Did you believe that most people were happy and living the way they desired to be? Did you feel that adults, even senior citizens, were relatable? How much trouble was out there in the world? What was your sense of Time and how quickly Life passed? Was your outlook on humanity and the world and the future generally a rosy one, or were you more pessimistic? Based on all of those aggregated impressions, what has surprised you most about Life? Has its speed surprised you? Does Time fly faster the older you get the way it does for me? When did you first get a sense of that? Will that keep surprising you until the end of your life? How about people? How do they surprise you? Are they generally better or worse than what you thought as a kid? Were you aware of all the addiction and mental illness in ordinary people all around you? How about your foundational beliefs about your country’s goodness or the righteousness of your religion? Have you come to doubt those stories that you were told? If so, is it more that you have learned the actual facts or is it just a general feeling that you have or a reasoned doubt? Are you more or less of a true believer now? Which direction do you see that heading in the years to come? Do you imagine that there are even more surprises in store for you beyond the ones you have already experienced, perhaps about relationships or priorities or views of death as it draws nearer? What has been your most pleasant surprise so far? How about your most disappointing? On the whole, have your surprises been more pleasant or unpleasant? Do you think that is due to how optimistic or pessimistic you were in the first place (i.e. optimists being more likely to be disappointed and vice versa)? Which one aspect of Life continually surprises you? Leave me a reply and let me know: What has surprised you most about Life?

Keep growing,

William

P.S. If this resonated with you today, please share it. Let’s grow our worlds together!

P.P.S. If this way of fleshing out your story 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 Made Any Lemonade From All Of These 2020 Lemons?

“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.” –Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

“The Chinese use two brush strokes to write the word ‘crisis.’ One brush stroke stands for danger; the other for opportunity. In a crisis, be aware of the danger—but recognize the opportunity.” –John F. Kennedy

Hello friend,

I am SO HAPPY to connect with you again! It feels like forever since I have written to you. I love to write these letters. I love the whole process: what I learn about myself in the exploration, the struggle to piece together the right combination of words to make my idea clear to you, the ecstatic blend of calm certainty and dancing butterflies I feel deep down in my chest and my soul from the knowledge that I am acting on my purpose, the joy and relief of hitting the “Publish” button and seeing my labor of love go out into the world to mingle with your beautiful mind, and the connection I feel with you as a result. All of that is everything to me. I love to write. I am so grateful to be in your world, to share space with you today. This is where I am supposed to be.

So, why haven’t I been here more often lately? That is the logical question. In Pandemic America, after all, the story goes that Time itself has slowed down, and with it, all of our lives. We have the headspace and the minutes and hours (and days and weeks and months….) to collect ourselves, to nest, to make our spaces feel more like home, to set our priorities right, and to finally do all of the things we have been longing to do for ourselves. As disruptive as the coronavirus has been to our normal—our economy, our relationships, our work, our fun, our faces—it supposedly gave us this gift of a “RESET,” the time to get ourselves right and clarify who and what we love.

This is why I have been racked with guilt and frustration that I haven’t been writing more over the past several months. This would seem to have been the ideal time to churn out letters to you every week like I used to. After all, Journal of You is about digging into our own existence and coming to understand where we have come from, where our passions lie today, and where we see ourselves going in the moments we have left on this Earth. This should be our opportunity to nail that stuff down, right? A chance at complete clarity, at least for a moment in our otherwise-busy lives. Somehow, I have failed to capitalize on this most golden of opportunities.

I suppose it was some combination of laziness, busy-ness, and distractedness. That natural slowing down during the earliest, “lockdown” phase of the pandemic seemed to slow everything down, including my ambition. I was enjoying the relative quiet and solitude of my home and family, content to soak up their company and the extra moments without errands and commutes. The urgency to write it all down just wasn’t there. Then came the urgency to do the other things that are typically much more neglected than my writing. Like so many other people, I took on all sorts of home improvement projects, becoming an apprentice painter, landscaper, and organization guru. With my time going into those tasks, the hours allotted to writing diminished. Then there was the issue of headspace. For so much of the last half a year, my brain seemed to split its thoughts three ways: pandemic, racial injustice, and governmental/political nonsense. All three are psychologically and emotionally draining in their own ways, leaving precious little energy for regular functioning, much less for creative expression.

I found myself at the breakfast table this week reading up on the wildfires currently devastating the American West. The whole thing is absolutely heartbreaking to me on so many levels: the loss of life (human, animal, plant, and more), the loss of Beauty, the loss of habitat, the loss of personal property and the priceless feelings of “home” for so many, the loss of jobs and dreams, the recklessness of human-created climate change, the addition of even more greenhouse gases from the fires themselves, and all of the trauma caused, to name just a few. The thought that rose up from inside me was, “My God, I hope we are learning something from this, at least. There has to be some good that comes from it. Something!”

It came out like a plea, I suppose, an imploring of the people of the world to find a way to do better as a result of this catastrophe, to create a silver lining from these darkest of clouds. To make lemonade from this overabundance of lemons we seem to be tripping over wherever we step.

Just think about these last few months and the swirl of awfulness that has joined our already-tense and divided country. The gross mishandling of the coronavirus and subsequent spiraling death toll and economy. The very public murders of George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, and Breonna Taylor (to name but a few) and the subsequent protests across in cities big and small across the country. Unemployment and food insecurity for so many. The deaths of social justice giants John Lewis and Ruth Bader Ginsburg. The continued lies and indecency of the President. The approach of a contentious election. The fires.

These are all things that have the potential, individually, to knock you down and leave you feeling lost and unmoored from your moral and emotional home base. They can also, individually, leave you deeply bitter and lacking faith in our country, its institutions, and its people. They have the potential, individually, to make you want to shut down, to retreat, to go into self-preservation mode. With powers of destruction that strong individually, when taken together, in a series of relentless, cascading blows one on top of another and often simultaneously, the cumulative effect of 2020 has proven devastating. The countless memes it has generated are a reliable testament to that (e.g “Cue the murder hornets!” and “Apocalypse Bingo”).

In a year when so much seems so wrong, the natural reaction feels like it ought to be to simply weather the storm, try to not get sick or committed to the asylum. Dodge the bullet. Just try to wait it out and hope to begin dreaming, loving, and achieving again next year. Save self-improvement for 2021. That makes sense. “To everything, there is a season,” right? This year definitely feels biblical, so maybe this is just the season of our lives to hunker down and ride it out, having faith that next year must be better.

That idea soothes me. It placates me, softening my usual urgency for personal and global improvement, lets me off the hook for my recent lack of achievement and production. My guilt is assuaged. I appreciate the pass for 2020.

But I can’t help being suspicious of it. I tend to disbelieve any philosophy that tells me it is okay to stop learning, growing, and making my life and my world better. Sure, I understand that our ambition ebbs and flows along our journey, and I try to listen to my intuition about how hard I need to push in a given season. And I am a huge fan of self-care and filling up one’s tank when it is running low so you can face the challenges of the present and the future. On top of that, I realize that some of these blows that 2020 continues to deliver require true grieving—they are just that painful–which takes its own time. Still, my internal dashboard is always measuring for Progress. I am naturally monitoring myself for signs of growth and surveying the world around me for ways I can both use my talents for good and be enriched. I am also naturally optimistic, so I live with the assumption that all situations can lead to better ones, and Growth is ours to claim.

With those traits in my nature, I should not be surprised at my response to the wildfires in the West (which are sending their smoke across the country as though to remind us that we are all in this together and no one gets away clean). Even in my deepest despair, I cling to the idea that we must learn and grow from our situations.

But have I? This year, I mean. Have I hunkered down and simply tried to survive—which may be enough, honestly, depending on how close to home each crisis has struck—or have I found any ways for these calamities to improve my life or the world around me?

I would say I have done very little directly for the world (e.g. I protested for racial justice and wrote some pieces, but I definitely didn’t write often enough), but I have improved myself in subtle but certain ways. Much of it has come in the form of solidifying my priorities and values. The pandemic, with its extra time to think and the need to stay in one place with only the people in my household, has served to thrust those values and priorities into bold relief, forcing an examination and a culling of the excesses and the things that just don’t feel authentic and uplifting anymore. And because all of these other tragedies and tensions have occurred inside of the pandemic, each has received a thorough vetting in the recesses of my mind and the pages of my journal.

It has become increasingly clear to me this year that my family is the most important thing. It turns out that I chose the right wife, and my kids are the right ones for me. With all of this working and schooling from home and acting as each other’s playmates, teachers, and co-workers, I can only imagine how many families are at each other’s throats during all of these overlapping crises. For all of my pre-family-life worry and fear I had over whether I could exist—much less be happy—with the responsibilities of a husband and father, I am so glad that I ended up with these guys. I feel much better about that now, and I believe that foundation will support me no matter what else I have to face.

In watching the way my country’s institutions and people have handled (or mishandled) the crises of 2020, I have become even more deeply committed to moral and political positions I have held in the past. The coronavirus pandemic has made crystal clear what a failure of leadership looks like. In the halls of Congress and the White House, and in examples from different governors and mayors from around the country, I have seen examples of the best and worst kinds of politicians. It has affirmed for me that, even though I am not a fan of our two-party system and neither party acts exactly as I wish they would, the folks that at least lean my way are doing so much more basic Good for ordinary Americans—that is, almost all of us—than the ones leaning the other way. The particular political issues that have come into relief through the crises—climate science with the wildfires, health care coverage with the coronavirus and its ensuing unemployment, voting rights and women’s rights with the deaths of John Lewis and Ruth Bader Ginsburg, racial injustice with the murders of George Floyd and others, and the need to protect our democracy with the regular assaults on it by the President—have made me feel stronger in my positions than ever before. My conviction has multiplied. I have become even more of Me.

These things have also cast each of my relationships and potential relationships into the light, making me very protective of the kind of people I want to keep in my life now and let into it in the future. Though my heart will be wide open with love, I have no doubt also that the gate will be well-guarded. Boundaries are beautiful.

These overlapping crises and the time I have had to consider them has made these things very clear to me. I am certain that this clarity will make me a happier person going forward, better able to see my way and also better able to use my gifts to serve the world and all of the beautiful souls finding their way through it. Though I am eager for this year and its many calamities to be behind me, I can honestly say I am grateful for it. I will come out the other side of 2020 as a better person.

How about you? Have you managed to grow and improve your world amidst the stress and tragedy of this year? Open up your journal and write out your own version of a progress report. What changes have you gone through internally as the various crises of 2020 have piled on top of one another? What is your balance of “just trying to ride it out” versus “I can thrive in this” mentality? How different is that balance this year compared to a “normal” year? Which aspects of the year’s drama—coronavirus, job loss, racial injustice and protests, social isolation, change of routine, economic stress, climate emergencies, death of heroes, murder hornets, political drama—tend to send you into self-preservation mode, where simple survival is the goal and personal growth seems out of the question? In which areas have you made efforts to address the issue head-on and learn more about it to achieve better clarity in your position and/or take action in the world to help the cause? How has that effort changed you? If this year has had you “stuck” at home more often and unable to physically interact with others much, how have you dealt with that? What have you learned about yourself through that aspect of the experience? Did you reach any conclusions about yourself that caused you to make any major changes? Do you feel like you have clarified who you really are this year? What do you value most? What are your top priorities? Are there things that you have reduced or eliminated from your life in this process? What about people? How has seeing your “friends” react to this year on social media (e.g. their responses to George Floyd’s murder) changed the way you feel about them or their place in your life going forward? If you have let some habits or people go, do you feel lighter and more authentic for it? Have you started some new habits? Are they healthy or unhealthy? Can you point to anything specific in your world where you are making a more positive impact than you were before this crazy year happened? Is it enough just to know that you are bringing a better self out into your regular life each day? If you feel like you haven’t spun any of 2020’s calamities into growth experiences, how might you start today? No matter what you have done to this point, which crisis area feels ripe for your next growth spurt? I hope you will take on the challenge. Leave me a reply and let me know: How have you turned 2020’s many lemons into lemonade?

Rise,

William

P.S. If this letter resonated with you, please share it with your community. Let’s improve together!

P.P.S. If you appreciate this sort of personal introspection, I encourage you to purchase my book, Journal of YOU: Uncovering The Beauty That Is Your Truth, at your favorite online retailers.

So Much Left Undone: The Tragedy of Life Cut Short

“Death is so terribly final, while life is full of possibilities.” –George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

“You’re alive, Bod. That means you have infinite potential. You can do anything, make anything, dream anything. If you can change the world, the world will change. Potential. Once you’re dead, it’s gone. Over. You’ve made what you’ve made. Dreamed your dream. Written your name.” –Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book

“You must decide if you are going to rob the world or bless it with the rich, valuable, potent, untapped resources locked away within you.” –Myles Munroe, Understanding Your Potential–Discovering the Hidden You

Hello friend,

I was at an arcade/sports bar for a kid’s birthday party when I heard the news of Kobe Bryant’s death in a helicopter crash. I looked up at the bank of TV screens above the bar and there was his picture and the dates of his birth and death. I was stunned. I shook my head, recalling that I had just that morning read an article that mentioned him congratulating LeBron James on passing Kobe on the NBA’s all-time scoring list the night before. And now he was dead, just like that. It was a shock.

But the real pain for me came later in the day, when I learned that his 13-year-old daughter, Gianna, or “Gigi,” was also on the flight and killed. My heartache only grew when, in the following days, I learned that among the seven others who died in the crash were two of Gigi’s basketball teammates, Alyssa Altobelli and Payton Chester. Kids. Kids whose brilliance was snuffed out in an instant and whose future contributions to this world we will never get to experience and appreciate. As iconic and mythical as Kobe Bryant was to millions of people across the world, it is the deaths of those girls that I can’t seem to shake free of. Even two weeks later, they hang like a cloud over my heart.

My daughter, India, is 11 years old right now, just two years younger than Gigi and her teammates. She is probably both the kindest and the smartest person I know. Her compassion knows no bounds, and she is always looking for ways to help people and make the world a better place. She is clearly on the path to greatness in one form or another (and knowing her, probably many forms). Her existence on the planet, when all is said and done, will surely be a net-positive. I cannot imagine the loss to the world–never mind my personal loss–if she were to die at the age 13. Oh, the wonder and brilliance that we would all miss out on! A loss so big that only those who already knew her could fathom because she had not yet been fully unleashed by the gift of maturity to do her special thing for us all.

So much potential. So many possibilities. So much still on the table. So much left undone. It is devastating to consider.

That is what I think about with Gigi, Payton, and Alyssa. What magnificence were they going to offer us? How were they going to illuminate our world with their gifts? Was Gigi really going to be a basketball savant like her father, as video suggests, and become the next icon of the sport? Would they become teachers, artists, scientists, or senators? Would they raise wonderful children? Would they raise our awareness? Would they break down barriers? What did they leave on the table??? To depart from us at that age, leaving us grasping fruitlessly to “We’ll never know…” as an answer, is truly devastating. It is the essence of tragedy.

But as I think about that condition, I begin to wonder: At what age is it NOT tragic? Seriously. What is the point when we can be satisfied that someone has emptied their bucket and given the world a satisfactory portion of their potential?

I look no further than Kobe Bryant himself. While I was never a big fan of his as a sports hero–though I had great respect for his work ethic and competitive will, I was turned off by other parts of him and more drawn to other athletes–I had, in the few short years since his retirement, become fascinated with his curiosity and his intellect, as well as his ambition for projects beyond basketball. I had known already that he was fluent in multiple languages, a trait which I respect. But he had also become a true storyteller, creating a series of books and even winning an Oscar for a short film he wrote, produced, and narrated called Dear Basketball. He seemed to want to keep expanding and sharing his light in as many ways as possible, including coaching his daughter’s basketball team. So, even though he had a very long, full career as a pro athlete, inspired millions of people around the globe, made a fortune, and had four kids and multiple successful business ventures–more than most of us dare dream of–I would say he had an unfinished life. At 41, it appeared he had a lot more to give. That is tragic to me.

It’s different, of course, than the loss of the three children. He got to live out his dream, at least. But still, with all of his potential–a bright, curious mind with burning ambition and the money to fuel it–he clearly left a lot on the table. We’ll never know…

It saddens me to see potential go unfulfilled.

This heaviness I have been carrying around with the losses of these young people and all that they might have been has inevitably led to thoughts of my own life and death. Beyond those awful visions of losing my children at this age and the world being deprived of all their potential magic, I have pondered my own death and the relative importance of what I would leave undone if I should go now, at 47. How much more do I have in me, and how valuable is that to the world? Can I still be a net-positive? At bottom, I suppose the question is this: How much of a tragedy would my death right now be?

My mind goes immediately to my kids and the thing I believe I have done best in my life: parenting them. They are only 11 and 9 now, so no matter how solid the foundation has been laid to this point, I still have a job to do. So many lessons to teach, meals to prepare, and hugs to give. Is there any age before adulthood when kids DON’T need all of the material and emotional support that a parent provides? There is just so much more I am going to do with them and for them? With them, I feel like an unqualified Good. It is the one spot in the world where I feel essential.

While I am less confident of my necessity in my wife’s life–she would be and do Amazing under just about any circumstances–I hope that my partnership with her can help her to rise even higher, do even more great deeds, and leave an ever-increasing impact on the world. I like to think that the supporting role I play in our duo allows the light to keep reaching her so she can amplify it and spread it out into her many areas of influence.

I hope I have some good writing ahead of me that will enrich the lives of my readers and those around them. I want to think that these letters to you continue to provide you with fodder for self-reflection and journaling that will lead you, like it lead me, to a greater self-knowledge and, in turn, a deeper sense of gratitude and thus happiness. I believe in the value of my purpose and my message, and I believe I have more to share on that front. I hope that includes more books and many more letters.

I know that I have more works of service in me as well, and also just more positive interpersonal communications. I plan to be a better human: more kind, more generous, more forgiving, more compassionate. And hey, I plan to have even more fun and adventure, making myself even more grateful and happy, which I know seems selfish on the surface, but I truly believe that happier people are a benefit to the world.

All in all, though I may not reach the millions that Kobe Bryant reached, I think I can be a net-positive to this place if Fate allows me to stick around. But especially for my kids. They are going to do magic here, and I need to help facilitate that. That is what saddens me so much about Gigi Bryant, Alyssa Altobelli, and Payton Chester. They were going to do magic here, too. I hope that any extra years I am granted here can be filled with such works of Good that I can make up for some bit of what we lost with them. I hope my life can do honor to theirs. And in the end, when it is my turn to go, I hope that I have wrung so much out of the years I was granted that it seems no tragedy at all that I have gone.

How about you? When you arrive at the end of your life, how much will you leave on the table? Open your journal and consider both your realized and unrealized potential. How have you done so far in your lifetime? Have you used your talents wisely and generously? Have you been of service to others? Do you feel confident that your existence has been a net-positive, that the world is better because you were here? Whether or not that is true, what would be the loss to the world if you were to die today? What more do you have left to give? In what specific areas of your life do you plan to be the most valuable? Family? Career? Volunteering? Sharing your voice? General personal kindness? Which people in your sphere of influence would miss out the most if you were to die now? How aware are they of that? Based on the life you have lived so far, could we make a pretty good guess as to what you have left to contribute, or do you plan to surprise us? How steeply can you raise your trajectory? Does the possibility excite you? How will your legacy differ if you live 20 more years from the legacy you would leave today? At what point in your journey–past, present, or future–would your loss be deemed a tragedy for the world (I mean beyond just being very sad for your loved ones, which is a given)? Do you mourn people differently depending upon how old they are when they die? If you had to pick an age when it no longer feels so tragic when someone dies, what is that number? 60? 78 (average life expectancy)? 90? Do you mourn people differently based on their talents and what they might have left to give, regardless of age? In the case of the helicopter crash involving Kobe Bryant, which did you find yourself mourning more: the 41-year-old, multi-talented celebrity or the 13-year-old kids? What do you imagine each of them left undone? Do the deaths of strangers shake you and stay with you? Is it because of their potential and what they never got to do? How about thoughts of your own “early” death? Do they rattle you? Is it because of what you might never do? Does that motivate you do better now so as to have fewer regrets about your impact and achievements? If you died now, what would you most lament having not done? How devastating is that thought? Leave me a reply and let me know: How tragic would it be if you were to die today?

Carpe diem,

William

P.S. If this resonated with you, please share it with your community. Let’s all live our best lives now!

P.P.S. If this way of reflecting on your life feels important to you, consider purchasing my book Journal of YOU: Uncovering The Beauty That Is Your Truth at your favorite online retailers.

The Pitfalls of Vanity: Do Your Looks Shape Your Life?

“Vanity is becoming a nuisance, I can see why women give it up, eventually. But I’m not ready for that yet.” –Margaret Atwood, Cat’s Eye

“How beautiful would it be if we could just see souls instead of bodies? To see love and compassion instead of curves.” –Karen Quan, Write Like No One Is Reading 2

Hello friend,

“Is my hair good?”

This is the question that my son poses to me every morning before he leaves for school. The question follows several minutes of primping with his comb and product. “Are you sure?” he questions after I assure him that it looks great (and inwardly wonder what I have done wrong as a parent). Then, as I pull him in for a hug and kiss good-bye, he fends off any part of me that gets too close to his hair. He zips up his big coat but carefully avoids his hood or hat, willfully ignoring orders from my wife to cover his head against the frigid conditions outside. And off he goes into the world, not minding one bit his mismatched socks or ragged sweatpants but obsessed with the placement of every last hair on his pretty head. Did I mention he is nine? Dear God!

Meanwhile, when I leave for work a few minutes after him, the last thing to have touched my hair was my shower towel. No combs, no products, nothing. Not because I have lost all of my hair with age, but rather because I have made the conscious decision to look worse just to be sure I am not walking around like my son all day, constantly worrying how my hair looks.

As part of my job in this frost-bitten land, I go outside for extended periods a couple of times per day, then return inside and resume normal work and life events. In order to avoid hypothermia, that means attiring myself in snow hats and balaclavas and such, which, of course, are guaranteed to make an awful mess of the best of coiffures. As a person possessed of no small amount of natural vanity, I was initially vexed by this situation. Last Autumn, as I pondered the upcoming daily embarrassment of a messy mane, I figured I had two real options: 1) accept my vanity and bring some hair gel to spruce up each time I came inside, or 2) shave my hair down to a length that nothing can mess it up, essentially “conquering” my vanity by becoming willfully unattractive. I went with the second option. It is counterintuitive, I know, and dripping with irony, but it somehow made sense to me.

The day I first shaved my head, it took a lot of self-talk. “It’s just hair! It will grow back if you want it to. Other people have no choice about this. How bad could it be?” For a guy who has enjoyed compliments on my appearance for most of my life, it was a challenge. I will never forget when my wife first saw me post-cut: she looked startled at first, took a moment, then said, “Okay…,” and walked on (clearly a well-disciplined product of the old “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all,” admonition we all learned in kindergarten). Lovely. I couldn’t quite believe I had actually chosen to become less attractive. And all to avoid acting vain? But now would I become more aware of my appearance? I was spinning inside. In untangling my hair, I had somehow managed to tangle my psyche.

While I have, as the year has proven, become more conscious of my hair and its downgrade in appearance in certain circumstances–when I meet new people, when I have to be in a picture, when I appear in public next to my very attractive wife, etc.–I have definitely embraced the freedoms it has brought. I wear a cozy winter hat more than ever rather than sacrifice my comfort to keep my hair sculpted. My baseball caps come on and off during the day without a second thought, as do the hoods of my hoodies. I increasingly seek out opportunities to swim or play in the rain. It is a new brand of freedom, and I quite like it.

It has made me all the more aware, though, of what people–myself included–sacrifice in their lives to work around their appearance. I notice my wife’s hesitation every time swimming is mentioned, knowing how much time and effort it takes to get her and my daughter’s hair clean and styled. That feels like a tragedy to me, as I tend to think of my time in the water as a source of Joy and profound Peace. I see people avoiding activities that make them sweat because of the work required for their hair or make-up to be redone, or that they don’t look attractive enough when sweating (to say nothing of insecurities about how they look in workout clothes or swimsuits). They go out in the cold or the hot sun without a hat, like I used to do, and freeze or burn rather than get their hair messed up. They avoid biking because of the helmets. The list goes on.

Of course, it is difficult to disentangle our vanity with our desire to feel healthy and confident, making this a sensitive and confusing topic. I go to the gym every day, and I can’t say for sure how much of my effort is aimed purely at being healthy and how much is to avoid looking a way that seems less attractive to me. I am sure when I started lifting weights when I was a teenager, it was much more about vanity than it was about my health. Probably it has only swung the other way out of necessity in recent years, cognizant as I am of the aches and pains of my aging body and wanting to delay any major malfunctions. And though body image is way too big of a topic for today’s letter, suffice it to say that vanity is still heavily at play in my life even now, as I move to this age when I don’t imagine myself to be physically appealing to anyone.

Maybe it is this relatively recent shift in perspective that best explains my willingness to shave my hair for the sake of practicality. In a way, I suppose I have given up. Not in a “poor me” kind of way, but rather just in a way that is more accepting of aging and my place on both my life’s trajectory and on the pecking order for our society’s definitions of beauty and appeal. The reality is that I am past our standard mating age and that they don’t show pictures of guys my age in the fashion magazines. Instead of resisting those simple facts, I am beginning to acknowledge them and flowing accordingly. Acceptance. It is not as though I am giving up hygiene and social skills; I am just not pretending that I might be attractive anymore. I don’t think anyone will fight me on the idea.

But speaking of society and our social norms, this topic of vanity and the freedom to age “normally” has stirred up some thoughts that aren’t about me so much but about you and everyone else in my world. Like this one: Why has it come to be expected that women dye their hair? I understand that some people–men and women–of all ages do this for fun or “something different” at all ages. Whatever, I like creative expression. But think of how few women, especially, that you know who actually have grey hair. I don’t know very many. I just think of all the time and money people spend on this–not to mention the emotional energy–and can’t help feeling it is all such a waste. And yet I know society has trained me not to judge them–which I don’t seem to–because it is so thoroughly “normal” (though I must admit that, for reasons that I can neither explain nor justify morally, I feel myself being critical about men who color over their grey). Still, I can’t help noticing and feeling some extra bit of respect for those few women I do see who have embraced their grey. Unconsciously, I think I do the same when I see women who have adopted an “easy” hairstyle or wear little or no make-up even if it makes them appear “less attractive” according to our current standards of beauty. Maybe I am finally opening my eyes to the damaging effects of patriarchy and our collective shallowness, and it is leaving me disgusted enough to appreciate anyone who bucks the system.

I would love to think that this is just part of the process of my maturation and learning the wisdom that old people sometimes arrive at: that there is no inherent worth in physical appearance and thus no use in giving it so much power over our self-confidence and our time. But maybe it is a convenient bailout for me at a time when my appearance–other than my whiteness and maleness–is finally failing to give me any rewards. Because, while I have often chastised myself for “flaws” in my natural physical appearance, I am also quite willing to admit that I enjoyed the unearned privileges of being considered “attractive” when I was younger. I have no doubt that it helped me in the eyes of teachers, employers, peers, and prospective mates. I am grateful for that, as I know it shielded me from a lot of things that I have never even considered and colors my perspective on everything, including this very topic. It is highly likely that now, as just a regular, middle-aged, grey-haired dude who nobody looks twice at, I am finally getting on the bandwagon of “wisdom” and wanting to be more dismissive of appearance. Maybe rather than enlightenment, the best explanation for my evolution is that I don’t want to play society’s game anymore because I can no longer win at it (I’m taking my ball and going home!).

In any case, I am highly aware of the messages our society and the people around us send to everyone, but especially to kids and women, about our appearances. In the last couple of years, I have made a conscious effort to say nothing about a person’s appearance. No compliments, no critiques, nothing. I sometimes fail, but I am aware of it now when I do. As a parent of kids whose bodies are constantly changing and who are becoming full consumers of the barrage of messages out there in our society–my son is 9 and my daughter is 11–I am hyper-vigilant about what I say to them. Occasionally I will soften my stance and tell them how adorable I see them to be, but mostly I try to say nothing about their natural appearances. I try to choose other things to compliment them on, such as their kindness, empathy, or hard work.

Although I consider them blessed with physical beauty and likely to be deemed “attractive” by their peers as they mature, I don’t want them to get any more attached to their appearances than society will already mold them to be. I especially don’t want them to equate their appearance with who they are. I also don’t want it to be so much work, physically or emotionally. It’s why it disturbs me so much when my son obsesses over his hair before he leaves the house. He cares too much.

Is there any way to be a member of our culture and not be a little bit obsessed about your appearance? I was going to say it is to get so old that no one is looking at you for your attractiveness, but even most of the elderly people I know seem very focused on getting their hair just right and looking fresh. I don’t know what the answer is. I don’t have a problem with wanting to look good. I guess I just don’t want myself or my kids to miss any opportunities for fun and adventure because it might mess up our hair or cause our make-up to run. And mostly, I want us to walk through the world knowing that our value is not in our appearance, no matter what our society tells us. I want to let go of my vanity as best as I can, not to justify looking bad but just to live more freely, with one less master to serve. I may not turn any more heads on my path, but at least I will be choosing my own way.

How about you? How much does your appearance shape the way you go through the world? Open up your journal and your mirror? What do you see staring back at you? First, just describe your appearance without judgments. Next, throw in some judgments, first of your own preferences and then of what society would say are your best and worst features. Who do you think is easier on that person in the mirror: you or society? What accounts for the difference? Regardless of your personal judgment of your appearance, how hung up on it are you? First, how much time do you spend on it? Do you spend your morning in front of a mirror trying to get it just right? Do you go to a salon for cuts and colors? How about manicures and pedicures? If you exercise, is it primarily for health or appearance? What other ways do you spend your time focused on how you look? At what age did you spend the most time on your appearance? Were you most or least satisfied at that age? How about financially? How much money do you spend on improving your appearance? Has that amount increased or decreased as you have aged? What other aspects of your life do you sacrifice financially to be able to afford your beauty upkeep? Do you feel like it is a good investment? Finally, how about the emotional investment? How much of your heart do you leave vulnerable to the way you look? Does it stress you out? Do you think of your appearance as who you are? How has that affected your self-confidence throughout your life? With all of that investment of time, money, and emotion attached to your to the way you look, how has it determined how you spend your time? What activities do you avoid because they would mess up your look? In what ways has your ambition to look good limited your enjoyment of life? Have you ever been so disgusted with your vanity and its hindrance to your life that you did something to make yourself look worse just so you would toughen up? Have you done anything to your appearance purely because it was easier to maintain or allowed you to live more freely–shave your head, let your grey go, given up cosmetics, etc.–even though it made you feel less physically attractive? How did that work for you in the long-term? Were you able to stay committed to it, or did you return to your higher maintenance look? Even if you can’t quite commit to looking less than your best for the sake of comfort and convenience, are you still willing to admit that our society has an unhealthy fixation on appearance and lots of unrealistic and damaging ideals that we are expected to conform to? Are you more likely to resist or conform? How has that changed as you have aged? Leave me a reply and let me know: How do your looks shape your life choices?

Be a beautiful soul,

William

P.S. If this letter resonated with you today, please share it with your community? Let’s rise together!

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

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