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We seem to be so afraid of inadequacy that striving for recognition by any means necessary outweighs just being ourselves, and also, being okay with being ourselves.

I’ve learned a lot in the last year and one of the biggest things I learned about is how important it is to be able to look in the mirror and be good with who you see.

You can only like who you see if you don’t hide anything from that person. The cool thing about the Gospel is that humbling yourself is the first way to forgiveness.

You have to admit your mistakes. Your imperfections. You have to show the person in the mirror that you understand your shortcomings - before you get credit for sincerity.

There’s a narrative in the Gospel that stresses the danger of pride. You cannot convince the person in the mirror that you’re a finished product if they already know you’re a work in progress.

You have to wake up, look them in the face, and say, “I know”. And then get to it. The liberation that comes from a commitment to not hiding anymore cannot be overstated.

You owe it to the person in the mirror to pick up your weight and place it in view. There is no more hiding. It’s the only way forward.

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My parents’ house is so old it has a giant wooden pocket door that was originally designed to wall off a room called the parlor.

The parlor in old houses functioned mostly for greeting and grieving. It's where the guests would be embraced and initial conversation would take place. It really represented a sacred type of space for the entire home.

Funeral viewing would also take place in this room. The final goodbyes to a loved one. The interesting thing about the parlor and it's evolution is that it’s now just coined the living room. It's the place that a family spends most of their time.

I wonder how afraid of grief we've become. What used to be apart of the grieving process, has now become a space of safety where we ignore life’s harsh reminders.

It's become the good time room. We navigate through comfortable conversation and avoid the dark parts. We used to operate in a different way — coupling a great loss with thanksgiving and gratitude.

This image captures me. A loved one who has passed in one room, while warm conversation and life is filling up the other. People showing up with food and hugs, reminding us that we don’t have to sit in this alone.

I sometimes wonder if this generation has moved to a place where we protect our ego and our hearts from pain so often that it forces us into inevitable denial. Feeling so deeply and heavily is tough, and sitting in that can seem impossible, but it’s entirely necessary if we want to be fully alive.

Culturally it can feel like we're ignoring the puzzle pieces that conjoin our current safeties with our current losses. Are we afraid of being sad?

It doesn't mean we're clinically depressed. It means we're human. We can celebrate amongst loss. We can cheer and we can cry. We can acknowledge that someone can have a profound impact on us and ultimately we still have to face the process of letting go.

We can turn away from the grieving room and give a hug and a smile to a warm face that brings us food in a time where we just don’t want to feel alone.

How beautiful is it that life can be so full and that we can feel so deeply? That we can experience a range of emotion so vast, we can sit in a room of sorrow and also feel completely fulfilled and supported and hopeful all at the same time.

What a blessing to be able to sit in grief with people that love you. Read that again.

David Kessler coined that grief demands a witness. You can't do it by yourself. The parlor was a room designed to carry out this very idea. The power of someone holding space with you cannot be under-emphasized. Life is going to keep moving, and it’s going to be okay. It will demand you to keep showing up, too.

Whether you grieve reluctantly or freely, you will. But this room in forever-old houses shows us the importance of loss and living. And we can't have one without the other.

Being fully alive can only happen if all of our emotional depth has a room in the house. We must find the ability to accept the reality that love and loss will be with us together until the end.

Following the death of his mother, Andrew Garfield described grief as unexpressed love. I thought that was a cool insight. It’s evidence that we loved deeply and longed to love more.

Life almost requires us to acknowledge our pain, even amongst friends. I wonder if we try to separate this pain from embrace too often. We can't comprehend a warm hug that coincides with letting go, so we choose one or the other.

But maybe they were both meant to coexist within us. It's healthy to be sad and to feel joy. Sometimes we just need someone willing to sit with us and acknowledge that pain can occupy one room, while warmth occupies another.

This is a precious life. Our appreciation for it cannot fully blossom unless we’re willing to hold the space necessary for loss, too.

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There is some phenomenon in our basic humanity with a constant internal dialogue. We’re all an expert in someone else’s mess. It’s like a list of unwritten rules where as long as nothing complex is bestowed upon us, we feel like the go-to guru.

For example, you can probably give good dating advice, as long as you aren’t in love with someone who treats you badly. You could advise someone on what they should do about their job situation, until you’ve committed years to a career that is cascading off a cliff.

The point is we’re often misdirected by our wins in life.

You are probably the best judge of character. You have the best support system. You know exactly how to navigate issues, leaning heavily on the cherry-picked people you’ve selected to do life with, right?

But you forgot about the small details. Maybe you didn’t grow up with abusive parents, or join a gang at 12 years old. Maybe you didn’t engage in other risky behavior and wind up pregnant as a teen, or have to fight your way through prison early in your life.

Yet you judge someone based on a decision they’ve made, simply because you wouldn’t have made the same one.

“How could they do that?” We might mutter, as we have a casual conversation about the world in the safety of our best friend’s back yard while we sip some wine and have some laughs.

There’s a great scene in the show Ted Lasso that I can’t forget. Ted is throwing darts against an antagonist in the show, presented as a wealthy egomaniac. Ted’s “life-lesson” being conveyed during this scene carries the message, “be curious, not judgmental”.

I’ve shared this in the past as the best thing I’ve ever taken from grad school. A professor one night encouraged us to remain curious about people. It’s my mental exercise every time I want to judge someone for their actions or behaviors.

It’s less about denying accountability altogether — God knows I think it’s important to take responsibility for the decisions we make. But it’s a statement that forces you to really delve into the reasons behind why someone might do or say what they do.

Again, not to necessarily let them off the hook, but to keep a humble heart in the way we go about our interactions with other people.

It’s easy to be critical of another person. It’s easy to play Monday morning quarterback, or to throw spit balls from the back of the class, without having to wake up and actually spend a day in their life.

The truth of it is we are all capable of hurting and getting hurt. Almost none of us are ever faced with an identical situation to another. Even if we go through something very similar to another person — our resilience, personality traits, and support systems all differ.

We are all accessing a different pool of resources to get through tough circumstances. In short, we’re mostly doing the best we can with what we have.

Until or unless we are personally faced with someone else’s struggles, we won’t be able to soundly decide which path we would truly take in someone else’s walk. In fact I think it’s arrogant and prideful of us to believe another person’s choice is ever simple or easy.

It’s why you think you can coach your friends through their messy dating life while you’re in a secure marriage. The safety of your own personal relationship creates blind spots. It tends to inflate your ego just enough to make you believe you have the ability to handle all complex relationship situations.

But in reality you can’t possibly know the challenges people face in the current dating pool.

Or you might think you can encourage someone to move on from a dead-end job that they’ve poured years into, while you sit comfortably in the same position for a couple decades with another bonus on the horizon. Same idea.

You’ve been fooled into thinking you’ve got all the answers. You have the job, the family, the friends — you’ve figured out the test of life. It’s easy to sit in the dark corners and pick apart people and their poor decisions. Criticizing their lack of direction as you go. You wouldn’t have ever ended up in their position, right?

I’m not trying to light up everyone in a secure relationship, job, family, or otherwise that believes they might have some life experience to share. By all means, use it to support other people.

But I’ve been there. I told myself exactly what I wanted. And then I proceeded to go and get everything I said I wanted, at the time I wanted it. And then I sat there, at times pridefully telling myself, “that was easy”.

When you think you have it figured out, life has a tendency to humble you. You get tricked into thinking you can sit on your L-shaped couch in front of your flat screen and post your answers to life on social media.

Like you’re solving the world’s problems in between battling with your spouse about the temperature on the thermostat because the house is a little too cold for your liking.

But you’re not under the gun. You aren’t faced with the same emotional triggers firing in your brain as some of these people that you’re passing judgment onto.

One of the most difficult lessons for any of us to learn has to be this misconception that we can play God in someone else’s circumstances without ever having to actually be them.

We all struggle with this. It doesn’t matter how good or bad your situation looks from outside your bubble, you probably feel like an expert when it comes to everyone else’s.

I’ve met people that were fed with a silver spoon growing up and now walk around with the audacity to judge homeless folks and the decisions they’ve made. Yet they haven’t even volunteered at a soup kitchen, much less met someone on the street.

They haven’t encountered a person who is homeless with a college degree, whose parents died, and who went through the foster care system growing up. Be curious.

I believe a lot of us think life should be simpler than it is. But I push back on that (obviously). Suffering happens to us all. And there’s no worse feeling than being in the midst of it, while someone else is telling you how bad of a job you’re doing.

Grief, chaos, destruction, tragedy — it comes for us all in the end. The redeeming factor is, and will always be, love.

How do you have grace for others? Love. How do you have patience with others? Love. How do you persevere for another human that you care about, through another mistake, misstep, or disruption? Love.

When the chips are down, life falls apart, and you’ve given up on yourself, what makes your people, your people? It’s their selfless ability to be there. Not just when you’re in need. To always be there.

You know your people by recognizing that no matter how you show up, the same gentle nonjudgmental embrace will meet you at the door, every time. Friends, that is Love (with a capital “L”). Every person reading this now most likely thought of one or two people in their own life right away.

Be that person for people. Ask yourself what kind of friend you would like to have. And whatever picture you paint in your mind, be that person for other people.

I talk to people every day that are trying to escape their various addictions. The common denominator? The ones who at least recognize their need for help — they all hate who they become when they are on substances. They are ashamed of themselves when they give into their cravings. You might be surprised to find out that they don’t actually enjoy destroying their own chances of building a better life.

I understand many innocent people are hurt by substances. There will always be consequences to our mistakes.

But we’re all struggling with something. And no one person is an expert in our particular situation. We only really find out how hard stuff is once we’re faced with it.

Be curious. Not judgmental. Be gracious. Give parts of yourself to other people. It benefits everybody. We’re not meant to share this space alone.

And we’re not meant to hold the gavel in someone else’s walk.

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I found out the other day that people die while still taking shallow breaths. It’s probably common knowledge. This can happen for hours up to days. It sort of marks the beginning of the end of their life. They are breathing enough to continue to survive, but aren’t really functioning otherwise. Their body needs less oxygen as their organs slowly stop working.

Their short-term health is officially in jeopardy, and they won’t be coming back from this, as they experience a slow descent to passing away. Thankfully, this is usually not a painful or suffering process, as people are often medicated enough by this time to not experience pain associated with death.

I read about this as it relates to our daily life. Our jobs. Our relationships. The slow death of seasons of life where we’re getting just enough oxygen to make it another day, but we’re not really living.

It’s a dangerous place to be, and the more time we spend in these silos with a lack of breath, the more we lose ourselves and our own ability to live out our actual potential.

I’ve spent a lot of time not feeling like myself. Years, even. I’ve been in that silo, where I was taking shallow breaths that were getting me to the next day, but ultimately a part of me was dying.

I’ve always tried to relate my experience to other people. Connection truly gives me life. I sat there reading about this, thinking how many of us are fighting to exist without really functioning? I believe so many of us are just coasting.

Shrinking ourselves for a relationship we believe might get better. Until we’ve sacrificed so much of who we are that we’re just a shell with the realization that nothing actually improved at all.

Sacrificing bits of our personality to stay in a muzzle at work, hoping for a promotion in a dead-end job that keeps us unhappy, but not unhappy enough to leave, just yet.

Not pursuing a dream or a hobby for fear of looking or sounding stupid, ultimately leaving us with the same string of stale nights where we doom-scroll our phone until we’re too tired to make it to the bed.

Do you ever stop and ask yourself what you’re doing and what you want? Or is the sound of shallow breaths appealing? Do you like that life is always trying to prop up your lackluster pillow and keep you comfortable?

Sure, the reality of never failing or looking silly sounds okay. Until you realize the cost. It means never growing. Never shaping. Never refining. Never evolving.

And ultimately, never living.

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Here’s my disclaimer. This is a longer and more vulnerable post than I normally write. You won’t hurt my feelings if you decide to skip it. If you do stay for the whole thing, thank you. Writing has always been a source of healing for me — that especially exists when there is someone on the other side of the paper.

I guess this would be called a letter of sorts, from me to you. I’m never a big fan of putting out new year’s resolutions. I’ve always believed that if something needs to change, change it now. Change it this weekend. Change it in the middle of June, on a random day, where no prompt to evaluate your life is required. The coincidence of this coming at the turn of a new year is simply that — a coincidence.

Having said that, I’ve just been through the most difficult year of my life. No, I’m not trying to be dramatic. I’m certainly not trying to steal any difficult “thunder” from anyone else out there having a tough time. I just want to show up, as is, and be transparent about the things life has been teaching me lately. So this isn’t a competition. I know some of you are in a storm of your own. I’m not special. I’m human.

There are many people that receive this email to their inbox who know me very well. There are others that don’t know me personally at all. And others yet that don’t receive my posts to their inbox but maybe catch a weekly rant once in a while.

I’m not usually this forward and vulnerable about my life through my writing. At least not publicly. But if my writing has been anything, it’s been a consistent effort to meet you where you are and foster a little bit of hope. Something that can push you to the next day, week, or even month. So I guess I’m practicing what I preach in a way, and asking you to meet me where I am this time.

I am in the middle of closing a gigantic chapter of my life, and opening a new one that has a lot of discovery, exploration, and a nervous excitement. If I’ve learned anything about myself to this point, it’s that I’m a flawed man. I need humility — the ability to understand that I’m just another person in this vast universe trying to look in the mirror and figure things out as I go. I need comradery — friends and family to walk with me and perhaps catch me when I slip, trip, and fall. Most importantly, I need grace — I need to be forgiven for my setbacks. For not showing up as good as it feels like I should be able to at times. I need to be met in the mud, where it’s clear that I’m unclean on the outside. The truth is there is a heart in here that desperately bleeds for another chance to be seen for who I am becoming, instead of condemned for my past and current flaws.

In my life I’ve talked bad about people. I’ve judged incorrectly. I’ve struggled with pride. I’ve made excuses for my behavior. I’ve said some really nasty things to people I care about. I’ve hurt people deeply who trusted me. I’ve stayed silent when I should’ve spoken up. I think that’s what makes the gospel such a beautiful message — more on that in a second.

Some of you might think my writing is for you. Maybe you think it’s directed at you, or maybe you’ve found a place to apply it to your life. I think it’s our natural tendency to apply what we hear to ourselves. And I am thankful for that. I’m thankful that I’m given a chance to speak into your life, whatever stage you’re in. You show up and give me permission to do that simply by reading the words on the page.

But the truth is when I write here, I’m writing to myself, and I’m trying to bring you along with me on the lessons I’m continuing to learn. The reason I share it in a public forum is because human connection can be a powerful tool and I don’t want you to feel alone. By bringing you along with me I hope my writing meets you in a place of your own vulnerability. A place that can inspire you and give you hope. This space has become my therapy at times. You’re the reason why. So, thank you for being here whenever you feel compelled to read.

One of the biggest takeaways I have from the past year or so — Jesus wasn’t joking when he promised, “in this life, you will have trouble”. Despite the promise of trouble, I’ve learned that you have to find your people. Shamelessly cling to them, if that’s what it takes. I’ve learned that it’s okay to reach out and text or call a friend. Even when you feel like a burden. Especially then. Because you will. I’ve spent a lot of nights in the last year wondering if I was disrupting my friends or family by just needing to talk. I’ve learned that you aren’t. You need your people, and they need you to know that you are never a burden. So make the phone call. Shoot the text.

I continue to learn so much from my kids as well. I’ve learned that you actually can choose to get over things rather quickly. That resilience can become more of a choice than you think. That if you put your focus on productive things, you’ll stop sulking and feel better about yourself as a natural consequence. And I learned that no matter how I feel about myself, my kids still think I have superhuman strength, am really quite funny, and that I’m an endless source for snacks. So that’s pretty cool I guess.

They’ve made it impossible for me to make the sad days about myself. They are a constant reminder that this thing is bigger than me, and I’m so thankful for that. My kids have helped me in ways they’ll never understand. And they’ve made me a better Dad.

About the gospel. We live in a fallen world. If you don’t think things are all that bad, zoom out of your daily life with your little routine. There are people hearing a devastating diagnosis for the first time. There are survivors of people who tragically ended their own life. There are children, right now, in slavery. People trapped in addictions. Families broken by unspeakable events. This is a fallen world with a lot of flawed people. I don’t say these things to depress you or ruin your mood. I believe it’s important to have some perspective outside of yourself. Have gratitude, if nothing else, for your blessings.

God didn’t create us just to wake up, go to work, go to the gym, grab a random dinner, argue about politics on social media, and go to bed. And then repeat that for 60 years until we die. And then within another 60 after we die, nobody even knows our name. What a weird life. This is not the world that God created for us. But I do think we all have unique abilities — different ways of connecting to others, relating to others — and if we can understand that there is more to this than our own personal worlds, I think we can piece together that purpose in our lives and hopefully make this a better place to live. But I digress.

God did create a way for us to have hope for the future. And that is found in Jesus. He bled for us so that we could escape the awful tragedies, suffering, and “trouble” that he promises in this life.

Theo Von, a comedian and podcaster, said this about Jesus, and it’s resonated with me since I first heard it:

If you're telling me there's a free being, a free body, a free parent, a free love, a free heart out there in the universe that will help me not feel alone, that's a lottery ticket that I don't have to scratch, man. I'll take that all day because I want to be apart of something bigger. I don't want to be apart of just myself. I think Jesus Christ would be a great guest. I think he'd be great to talk to. I think that'd be a nice person to sit down and have lunch with.

What more could anyone ask for? To be given unbridled access to a nonjudgmental presence that will forever give us permission to show up exactly as we are — giant mess and all. Jesus came for people that were a mess. He had dinner with prostitutes. He forgave the thief next to him on the cross, because he saw his heart of humility. He showed mercy, over and over again, to sinners. Jesus came for the screw ups. And he openly called them the opposite. God says he “blots out” our transgressions.

Who else can you continually sin against in this world that will repeatedly welcome you back into their arms with a hug, while interrupting your explanations for how sorry you are, by simply saying, “I’m so glad you’re home”?

The Gospel is the single most beautiful breathing message that exists. A guaranteed invitation to sit at the table with Jesus, when all feels lost or broken, and to rest in his presence where you’re fully seen with all your blemishes and fully accepted all the same.

Back in high school I was hanging out with my friend Scott. We were going through the Bible and sharing our favorite verses. Scott shared with me Isaiah 40:31. “Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not be faint.” It remains one of my favorite verses and grounds me in times of stress.

I believe at the time I shared with him a verse from Ecclesiastes, which remains my favorite book in the Bible. It outlines the fact that no matter what we experience in this life, it’s all meaningless apart from God. It is believed to be written by the troubled king Solomon. Solomon was David’s (David and Goliath) son and he inherited the throne once David had passed. Solomon greatly struggled with sin in his life, but he was considered the wisest man to ever live and is widely credited with writing several books in the Bible, including Proverbs. I like to think of Proverbs as a big book full of wisdom and pieces of life advice.

Throughout Ecclesiastes, Solomon speaks of indulging in various life experiences. Women, food, alcohol, partying, wealth, etc. And he speaks from a place of trying everything that the world has to offer. He ultimately concludes that it was all in vain, it was all fleeting, and it was all meaningless, “like chasing the wind”.

I like to think that Solomon was coming from a place of brokenness, a place of humanity. He was constantly struggling with the desires of his own flesh fighting against the purpose God had given him. He was able to admit that he really tried to “live his best life” and came up empty. That a life dedicated to the things of the world is meaningless in comparison to a life dedicated to the things of God.

So, what’s my point? In the past year I felt broken at times. I felt like I was walking around a dark room and continually finding the corners when I was looking for the door. Sometimes It felt as if I was hugging the wall, cowering and crying, feeling sorry for myself, with no hope of getting out. What I didn’t realize is there were people in that room with me the whole time. I couldn’t see them or feel them, so I thought I was alone. I think this happens all the time in our lives. We’re bogged down by some sort of struggle, that we don’t really see the burden other people are carrying along with us.

Two things ultimately gave me hope in finding a door — Jesus and my people.

I heard a wonderful story a couple weeks ago by a speaker who is a therapist and also a comic. He asked a question after telling his own personal story of struggle: “Who walks with you?”

This was in connection to one of the Chronicles of Narnia books — The Horse and His Boy. In the story, Shasta (the boy) is walking in the dark with his horse, crossing mountains on his way to Narnia, when he realizes a mysterious and unseen creature is walking with him. There are different points in the story where Shasta is afraid of the creature. The creature speaks with a mighty voice, and as they walk and talk, Shasta doesn’t know what to make of it all. The story eventually reveals that Aslan (the heroic Lion) is the creature who has been walking with Shasta through the dark mountains. It also reveals that Aslan is actually walking between Shasta and a deadly cliff, ensuring the boy’s safety without his knowledge on his journey to Narnia.

I want to echo that sentiment — Who walks with you, between you and your cliff? Maybe like Shasta, you don’t even realize when your people are helping lift the burden.

I’ve grown closer to loved ones that will never give up on me, regardless of where my journey tends to lead. I’ve had several people, at different times, walk between me and that cliff. I continue to receive random texts of support and unprompted phone calls from friends or family checking in. I’ve received love and grace that I’ll never forget and I’ll always be thankful for. People continue to walk with me, like Jesus, meeting me exactly where I am.

Scars don’t make you a worse person. Missteps don’t define your character. I would actually argue the opposite. They are so often a necessary part of growth. A building block. We learn very little from peace. Life has this way of proving time and again that wreckage can be useful.

I just recently bought a new house and I discovered something interesting about it. There was an older house on the land that the builder destroyed to make way for the newer house. What I discovered is that the builder seemed to use some joists from the old foundation to help build the new house. The wreckage from the old house was used to build a stronger and better version.

We aren’t meant to be some finished product. I’m certainly not close. Not to be cliché, but there is always hope to build anew, even if you feel like you’ve lost your foundation. You can always begin again.

I want to leave you with this —

I’m overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude. Writing has become a necessary intervention in my life. And whether you read every post or catch one here and there, you’ve become a necessary part of it, too. It helps me to know sometimes that I’m not writing to a complete void. It reinforces my belief that we’re all connected by the human experience, one way or another. And I really hope that you always glean something from the ridiculous things I ramble on about. Regardless, thank you for being here and gracing me with your time. Hopefully my next post won’t be so serious.

Always grateful,

E

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There is a psychological tragedy going on in our society. Something that I think gets buried with every incoming generation.

We’re losing the ability to not only capture simple joys in our life, but we’re shaming people for having them.

What a privilege it is to be happy about something small. To not need a vacation to gloat over, or a concert to brag about, or to purchase a new house that requires showing off.

Social media can operate at times as a gigantic comparison realm. But we shouldn’t be thrown off that we only see the highlights of someone’s life. It tends to get us every time, though.

Maybe it makes us feel inferior, bland, boring, or like we’re not doing anything productive with our life. Sometimes it can make us feel like our lives lack meaning or direction.

Perhaps one of the most dangerous things it does is celebrate the grandiose - the big celebrations and gestures, the vacations and adventures, the glorious weddings and concerts, etc. without ever appreciating where we place 99% of our time.

We are training ourselves to attach joy and meaning to only the big stuff.

There is an odd stigma our society has placed on the simple pleasures we can take from the “boring” life. We don’t live vicariously through the joy of a good coffee.

Why do we have such a hard time being content with the mundane? We always want to hear that someone does something interesting for a living. We want to hear about the vacation they just got back from.

We want to escape. And every time we do so, we are surrendering to this belief that our boring little life is just insignificant, and there is something challenging about taking joy in the small stuff.

Why do we have such a hard time believing that unless we’re doing something extraordinary, we aren’t living a fulfilling journey?

I don’t see us taking enough joys in our daily walk or cup of coffee.

We’re stuck in the constant chase of the more boisterous experience in order to take the edge off and experience real joy. This just means our happiness is fragile, though. It’s dependent on external circumstances and new endeavors.

When we were kids, sometimes we would stay at our grandparents’ house over night. My Grandma Vicky and my Papa would go through the same breakfast routine, almost every morning.

They would get out their TV trays, eat breakfast, and watch the morning show. I remember they always had the best toast and orange juice.

They would sit there and chuckle about the quips that Katie Couric and Matt Lauer would make back and forth. The sound of crunching toast in between.

My grandparents took joy in doing this every morning. It was something significant to them in their daily life. And no one, other than the people closest to them, ever knew that this was their routine.

I don’t discourage anyone from “living their best life”. Go on the vacations, do the big things, experience what you can.

But there is power in taking joy in the things that nobody else cares to hear about.

If you can find the small significant things that show up in the mundane of your unique life, then you aren’t just doing okay. You’re winning.

And nobody should ever be ashamed of that.

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“Just a little more, Dad!”

My daughter was watching her bowl of Cheez-its fill up and overflow right in front of me. I told her to eat what was there and then we’ll see if she wants more.

I used to think that I could actually achieve happiness if I accomplished a specific goal, crossed something off the bucket list, or had more ice cream than I needed. But all I ever really did was replace that goal with something else to pursue.

Nobody let me into the world’s best kept secret. Happiness is a fleeting emotion. A feeling. It’s not some consistent state of existence. There’s no way to really measure it. I suppose scientifically it’s measured by dopamine that our brain gives us when we’re having fun.

I didn’t realize until well into adulthood that it’s peace I’m after. Peace is the thing that I’m chasing down. But then I realized there was another secret.

Peace can’t be chased. It can’t be worked for. It can’t be accomplished.

It’s a centering into ourselves. An understanding, perhaps that it’s okay to be completely misunderstood. It’s okay to not have the answers. And it better be okay to be disliked.

I know now whatever it is that I think will bring me happiness, will be temporary. I suppose everything in life is in fact, temporary.

But there’s a certain power in understanding that peace requires surrender. Not some forward action. And we’re so dead-set in this hyper-productive society to earn and achieve and work for and to do more, more, more, lest we’ll remain unhappy.

Maybe I’ve missed that. The reality that your focus in life shouldn’t be that you need to be happy all the time. But instead about making peace with whatever you’re carrying with you to the next day.

The focus shouldn’t be all about getting rid of what’s painful so that you can wear an indistinguishable smile everywhere you go. That isn’t real life.

It should be about showing up with everything alongside you, everything that’s made you, you. Regardless of whether or not you’re smiling. You’re there, with all those realities you lug around.

You can’t put a price on that level of acceptance.

After putting the kids to bed I was walking through the living room and something on the coffee table caught my eye. There it was. A half-bowl of Cheez-its. Must’ve been sitting there for a few hours.

As I was dumping them in the trash I chuckled to myself, “Ha.. I knew she didn’t need more”.

We have the most difficult time recognizing that the way to Peace itself is this realization. It’s our surrendering of our illusions. It’s knowing when to say, “that’s enough for me, I’m okay”.

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Sometimes I’m fascinated that I can’t seem to get out of my own way. I’m fascinated that some of the most basic rules to live by are the hardest to apply but the easiest to remind other people of.

Emotions are strong, stubbornness and pride are very real. It feels like I can have all the answers when someone comes to me with an emotional problem, but I can’t muster up the simplest version of my own advice when I need to take it.

In light of this, I want to share some of the coolest and most basic insights I’ve learned from other people through books, podcasts, TV or just general conversation. I struggle to apply these to my own life every day.

Nonetheless, I hope you take something valuable from it, even if it just enhances your daily mindset the tiniest amount.

My list (that I stole from various sources) of unteachable lessons that we all know but have the most difficult time learning:

• “Money won’t make you happy”

• “Popularity won’t fix your self worth”

• “Nothing is as important as you think it is when you’re thinking about it”

• “You will regret working too much”

• “Worrying is a waste of time”

• “You should see your parents more”

• “It’s okay to cut toxic people out of your life”

• “You should spend less time on your phone”

• “Nothing is ever as good or as bad as it seems”

• “The more you complain, the less accurate your reality”

• “The single greatest skill you can develop is the ability to stay in a good mood in the absence of things to be in a good mood about”

• “Be where your feet are”

• “If you can be in a bad mood for no reason, you can be in a good mood for no reason”

• “Fear exists in the vague, not in the specific”

• “Find increasingly small things to be happy about”

• “Work without lust for result”

• “Within a couple of generations, almost all of us will be completely forgotten”

• “Realize that you have the power over whether you’re upset or not”

• “Forgive yourself, ask for help, and find your people”

• “Time doesn’t heal all wounds. The work you do, does.”

• “Don’t let the discomfort of growth trick you into thinking you are regressing”

• “It becomes easier to stop taking things personally when you realize everyone is projecting their own inner world”

• “It’s hard to develop the skill of knowing when you’re bullshitting yourself”

• “Evel Knievel wasn’t paid for the jump. He was paid for the attempt”

• “If you said to me the stuff you say to yourself, we wouldn’t be friends”

• “The happiest people are not the ones with the most options, but the ones who stop questioning their choices”

• “Someone could fly you to the top of Everest and I’m sure the view is great, but it doesn’t matter that much because the climb is the point”

• “Success derived from something that isn’t authentic doesn’t feel like success”

• “Life’s too short to be pissed off all the time”

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When I was younger my mom used to preach against complaining. She didn’t like that whiny voice I would get and the way I would wail, “It isn’t fair!”

One of her trademarks is that life isn’t fair. Not far behind — I remember how much she despised complaining. She said it never did anything productive.

It is true. When I’ve spent times in life wallowing, feeling sorry for myself, and complaining, I would almost purposefully look for the negative angle. I wanted to complain.

I wanted things to be so unfair sometimes that there wasn’t a possible action I could take to make things better. It was never true of course. But it always seemed true. It always seemed like there was no way out and it just wasn’t up to me.

I was a victim in God’s sandbox, getting chased by fire ants and trying to avoid the rain.

Okay it wasn’t quite that dramatic.

I’ve found that sometimes circumstances get so tiresome that we not only want to complain, but we want permission to complain.

Venting feels good in the moment. I love going on rants. I rant verbally and through text. The recipients of these texts sometimes literally get tired reading all the stuff I write. Attention spans are small these days and I pull no punches on being wordy. Self-awareness counts for something though, right?

I digress.

Recently I’ve come across Dr. Rangan Chatterjee and his seemingly tireless quest to tell us all about the negative long-term effects of complaining too much.

He has many simple but profound strategies to turn complaints and negative thinking into positive reframes. Some of the most practical insights he encourages are about replacing complaints with gratitude.

For people addicted to complaining, this will not be an easy mindset to adapt. But as with all things, practice makes perfect.

I’ve been focused on absorbing more positive reframes lately. If something can improve my mindset, help me become more resilient, and teach me something, I’m usually in.

This is why journaling is such a positive experience. Might as well add homework in the middle of a long-winded discussion on complaining. Take these questions and answer them honestly — What is something that made you happy today? What is something you witnessed that made someone else happy? What did you learn?

I’ve realized that dying to myself is a continuous process. If you are learning, then you’re growing. If you’re growing, then you’re becoming a different person entirely.

When this happens, the old you essentially dies. Old habits, old characteristics, and the old trainwreck that you used to be. It leaves, hopefully for the better. But these struggles are really par for the course.

“You learn very little from peace”. Growth often requires painful experiences, unfortunately. With these painful experiences come the temptation to complain.

So much of the painful experience is our own resistance to reality. It’s our intolerance for the “new life” that is in the foreground.

Dr. Chatterjee puts it like this — “Complaining is a sign of being disappointed by the natural order of life, where adversities are expected to happen”.

Adversity is one of the most critical and important parts of life in gaining knowledge and growing as an individual. And we rail against it because we’re uncomfortable with something different. We complain.

Dr. Chatterjee also says the more that someone complains, the less accurate their worldview is.

Essentially when we complain over and over, we refuse to accept the reality of our life. We don’t move. We want to reverse something. We want to wake up from the dream that we disagree with, which is now our true reality.

I’ve accepted that there’s no productive place for this disgruntled mindset. If I lack the ability to accept change — to grow — I’m denying my opportunity to live my own life.

But there is no way other than forward. The train is moving and I’m on it, regardless of whether or not I believe I am.

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Be the odd one out, but voluntarily.

It’s okay to be the 1 or 2 percent of people that don’t do something. In fact it takes courage to be that.

For people that don’t know my mom, sometimes I describe her character as the person that will stand painfully alone if she believes that what she’s standing for is right.

Growing up I’ve watched her carve paths that go against the grain of the majority vote. At times it has pitted her up against people, institutions, school systems — you name it.

She’s never cared about the corrupt politics of any system. She’s never cared what the majority of people are doing to appease wherever the money is coming in. You can leave the exclusive clubs and groups at home. They don’t impress her, and she’s never wanted in.

She is 1 of 1.

I think her secret is that she thrives in those places. It inspires me to put myself there personally and professionally as well.

Of course I’m still practicing, but I find myself coloring outside the lines more often lately. I’m not a fan of red tape if it gets in the way of logical reasoning, especially when it doesn’t benefit anyone other than boosting the ego of the person enforcing the “red tape”.

In my journal, there exists a spot to write the date on every page. 3 lines, separated by slashes in between. I always write the date to the left, leaving the designated lines blank.

This would absolutely drive the OCDers nuts. I do it for a very purposeful reason, though.

It serves as an incremental reminder to myself that I don’t have to do what 99% of people do. I can create. I can carve something new.

It reminds me that the safety of what everyone else is doing doesn’t always yield the best results or isn’t always the right way. It motivates me to keep in mind that we are creatures of habit, persuaded to sink into a routine and simply never leave it. Just because.

We can make new pathways if we’re willing to lead. This doesn’t mean you have to stand in front of a group of people and give an inspiring speech. You can lead in various ways; by example being one of them.

To be a good leader, you usually need to do 3 things well. You need to be empathetic, you need to be vulnerable, and you need to be willing to accept failure as part of the process.

Being too prideful or too swayed by opinions of other people will only sidetrack progress. It’ll keep us busy with the noise instead of coloring outside the lines and being okay with criticism.

Being afraid of failure will hold us in place, paralyzed by our fear of “looking dumb”.

I heard something really interesting on a podcast the other day. The famous author, Mel Robbins, was talking on Simon Sinek’s podcast about motivation. the brand Nike has one of the most famous taglines ever. Just Do It.

Mel asked Simon what he thought was the most important word in Nike’s tagline. Simon responded, “Do”. She said, “No, it is the just”.

She explained that the Just appeals to our humanity. It is the moment of self-doubt that we experience in any situation where we have to step out of our comfort zone. Just do it.

To me, it says do it afraid. Do it embarrassed. Do it against all odds. Do it against the grain. If everybody else is not going to do it, do it anyway. Whatever is up against you, whatever you’re facing, find a way to do it.

Just do it.

You don’t have to be like everybody else. Not to be depressing, but in the grand scheme of things, your name will be completely forgotten within a few generations anyway.

Who cares where you’re “supposed to” write the date. Be unapologetically you. Don’t be sorry for looking dumb. Be sorry for not trying because you were scared to look dumb. Be sorry for doing what everybody else is doing just to blend in.

Be sorry for being unoriginal when you know you possess something greater than that. Be sorry for not getting help when you need it. For not asking another question when you don’t know. For not sharing your special qualities with the world.

Most importantly, don’t be sorry for growing through failure because you stepped out when everyone else thought you should stay put. Just keep doing it.

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“We are not who we hoped to be”.

I’ve been thinking a lot about grace lately. Grace is the thing in life that allows us to move forward. It is almost as powerful as love. In fact, I think it takes love to have grace.

Grace for others and grace for ourselves.

Benedict Cumberbatch said, “we all want to escape our circumstances, don’t we?” It takes grace. It’s a gift given.

I think at some point in all of our lives we set out to be a specific person. We set out to be kind, compassionate, we want to be understanding, we want to be remembered as funny, perhaps.

There is some version of us that exists in our minds as the ideal version. Physically, emotionally, all of it. At least I know there is for me, but then again maybe I’m weird.

The problem is that we’re very unlikely to evolve into this ideal version of ourselves simply due to the fact that we will never be perfect. This is where grace sticks the landing for us.

It’s beautiful that you can be less than ideal. Maybe you have bad days. Plural. Maybe you have a bunch of bad ones in a row. Maybe you yell at your kids, your significant other, you screw up at work, you’re unfocused. Maybe you’re depressed.

Maybe you want to complain about every little thing. Like you want to have permission to be a giant whiner some days. And then maybe you feel guilty about those feelings because you know that inevitably someone has it much worse than you do.

Grace is beautiful.

Relient K put it like this in one of their songs, “the beauty of grace is that it makes life not fair”.

We often don’t deserve it. But that’s why it’s a gift. I’m learning in life that one of the most profound gifts you can give yourself is grace.

It is impossible to move past foot-holds, chains, bitterness, feeling sorry for yourself, anger — and many other emotions that make us feel stuck — without it.

Grace makes healing possible. It makes the limbo of life a little more bearable. And it makes you believe, even for a moment, that despite your circumstances you do deserve good things.

There is profound value in knowing who you are, not just who you want to be. It’s easy to compare ourselves to someone else and wish that we were like them. But I believe that each of us were created with purpose.

That means in the universe of DNA, I am a 1 of 1 product, and you are too. Our genetic makeup, combined with our unique life experiences, have molded us into people unlike anyone else. We’re each uniquely equipped with something that nobody else has.

This is why grace is so necessary and important. You deserve the flexibility to not be at your best. No one else knows what it’s like to be you. Grace provides the opportunity for us to emulate that ideal version of ourselves without ever having to be perfect.

What a beautiful thing.

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“Man, it’s easier to just do the drugs!”

This guy was not enjoying the process of getting into substance use treatment. I was screening him for eligibility and he wanted to go to a place that was not one of our contracted providers.

In frustration, he dramatically admitted that the process of getting into treatment was more difficult than it was to just keep doing the drugs that were holding him in place.

He was taken aback when I agreed with him. “You’re right. It is easier to do the drugs”.

There is nothing in life that is easy about significant change. Especially change for the better. Read that again.

This guy could’ve buried his head and just kept getting high. It is easier for him to be numb than to confront the endless future possibilities that his mind was exhausting him with.

Here he was, 90 days away from being a more confident person or just feeling better overall. 90 days away from getting rid of the bad influences in his circle. 90 days away from being able to tell people, “I’m sober”. 90 days away from getting out of a self-made prison.

But he wanted to go back because it was easy.

This is our human experience. Our lives are built around convenience. The majority of people don’t have goals, don’t know where they want to be in 5 years, and cannot see past the next week.

From an outsider’s view, it’s easy to see that continuing on a path of destruction to your own soul is not good. But a man that has reached the point of a phone call, the doorstep of his own recovery, decided it might be better to turn around and sink back into the numbing sensation of getting high. Or he was at least tempted by it.

He saw that there is nothing convenient about what he is destined to go through. Seeking help, going to a treatment program, having to live there for the next few months. All he saw were the inconveniences. The discomfort of change.

No doubt it took him on a thought-path that had him trying to convince himself he could get off the substance, cold turkey.

He was facing the unknown. A disturbing and uncomfortable feeling. It is easier to do the drugs.

He saw that he had no choice, though. I think that scared him the most. We love to not only control the outcome, but control the avenue as well. After all, if we’re making the right choice, don’t we deserve a smooth ride?

Life confronts us with “forks” in the road all the time. We seem to always have a choice to either continue to do the “drugs” or forge a different way.

Forging promises to be uncomfortable. In the physical sense, it means to heat up a metal object long enough that it can be hammered into a different shape. Used for an appropriate purpose.

The easy way promises familiarity and mediocrity. It’s a paralyzing poison. It tempts us into staying the same. Because then no change is required. We can just be numb forever.

What a life.

I told this guy that doing the drugs is indeed easy, but it isn’t worth it. He has a life, and however small and insignificant he thinks it might be, every life is valuable.

He cannot see the opportunities that he has yet to experience in the future if he’s just willing to step into the fire and change. All he feels right now is the pain of the forging, and at the same time, he’s incapable of seeing the positive outcomes of that pain.

If he does the hard thing now, he is going to change someone’s life for the better, later.

Let me offer something that I have to offer myself every day—The hard thing is worth it. The difficulty is worth it.

Change is worth it. It offers a guarantee that you can’t find in any comfortable, familiar, and unchanging avenue — it offers growth. A better version of ourselves. A more useful version.

I wouldn’t dare let my kids see a version of me that doesn’t try to grow beyond what is familiar, especially if that familiarity is toxic to my being. They deserve to know that hard things in life don’t have to stop them from developing into the amazing people they are meant to be.

Struggle will happen. Pain is a guarantee. Staying the same is a choice.

A forged metal is literally hammered into shape. Only then is it made complete with purpose.

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I used to screen individuals in crisis to determine whether or not they were appropriate for psychiatric hospitalization. I remember thinking that whatever disposition I settled on, I could justify it.

In other words, whether or not I recommended hospitalization, I had reasons for coming to that particular conclusion. I would thoroughly document the reasoning behind my decisions.

And just because I evaluated someone and came to a disposition, doesn’t mean another clinician would’ve decided the same thing. Life is filled with subjectivity. A certain clinician’s personality, their lifestyle, and their level of anxiety, might sway a decision one way or the other.

The over-arching goal is to take the information at hand and make a judgment on that person’s ability (or not) to keep themselves safe.

Life is full of clinicians — taking information and making judgments. It’s how we navigate this messy journey. And it is messy. Everyone is an expert.

One of the reasons we’re all so good at giving advice — but not following it — is because we know what we would do if we were them. The flaw in this thinking is that the stakes aren’t very high for us personally when we’re giving the advice, rather than taking it.

We build support systems around us to reinforce our ways of thinking and feel safe about the decisions we make. We build reasons for justifying our feelings in a given situation, because that is more comfortable than confronting the bad parts of us that we don’t want to examine.

We’d rather bury those and pretend they don’t exist. They are an uninvited guest, and if we ignore them long enough, they’ll simply go away.

The truth is we cannot talk about life without including the ugly parts. It is part of the equation, after all. We will have to face those parts, one way or another. Otherwise we’re consumed by them.

We let them grow inside of us and create a bitter crust around our hearts. We take things and people for granted, and we often struggle to deal with the ever-present resentment that develops.

The clinicians come out of every corner, almost with an excitement to evaluate and diagnose us, and to tell us where we went wrong. Miraculously, they also seem to have the one simple solution to getting rid of all the weight holding us down.

The truth is, those dark parts inside us have taken a while to grow. Like mold, they slowly spread until they’ve overtaken us and are now more noticeable than ever.

Meanwhile, we’re judged for having them in the first place. How could we? Things should be so simple. It should be easy for us to dispatch this ugliness attached to us.

Your childhood, your relationships, your anxieties, your depression, your self-esteem, your environment. What goes in, sometimes influences what comes out.

The Bible says that what comes out of one’s mouth defiles a person. Lashing out with words or actions put the ugly parts of us on display.

The reality is we are all responsible for what we do and say. We are all responsible for our behaviors, both the selfish and selfless. The good and bad. The kind and mean.

We are all capable of having the convenience of being the clinician. In some ways our judgments of others are too easy, too readily available. But the struggle is found in the desperate seat. The one in need of help.

Much like scars, faults are all very easy to see, but they all have a unique story. It is vital to learn from each one. To keep adding the building blocks to a better version of ourselves.

Faults are part of the human experience and so are clinicians. It’d be wise of us not to put too much stock in either, but to keep a heart of kindness and compassion. A heart of responsibility and accountability.

The things that build character are not found in acting perfect every day. They are not about making the right decision, every time. Character is built through adverse circumstances. Character is about resilience and about learning. Character is about taking the second chance seriously.

It isn’t about not ever hurting others. If we were all defined by our careless acts, our inhumane thoughts, our selfish desires — if that is everything anyone can see when they look at us — our hearts would all be just as ugly as the next. Every fault on display.

Character is about recognizing our capability to cause harm and trying our damnedest to avoid that at all costs. To realize that becoming a better person every day is a choice and a privilege. A selfless way. An endeavor to die to our personal desires in order to benefit others.

No, we cannot ruin the person we are with our singular mistakes. We can ruin the person we are if we think we don’t make any. We have to become people that are not afraid to fall and that strain to avoid becoming the lifelong clinician.

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Recently I said goodbye to my grandmother, who was 92. She was so special to many people, in different personal ways. To me, she was my last grandparent left. To me, she was the end of an era of people in my life.

Death looks different now than it used to look. Death used to be so far away I didn’t ever think about it. Now I’m finding that it teaches me things.

Being afraid of it — being avoidant — perhaps isn’t the way I should treat it.

My grandmother’s passing is significant to me in a lot of ways. It came on the heels of me making a big decision in my career.

I had the honor of being one of the people to share at her funeral, and as I thought about my grandmother, I realized that I never actually knew what she did. For a job. I didn’t remember.

I didn’t remember certain hobbies or accomplishments she had achieved. Obviously some of this is because she was my grandma and I had a different relationship than a spouse or a child.

Nonetheless, the things that kept coming back to me all involved the way that my grandma made me feel. She taught me something in her passing.

She taught me to be mindful about how I make people feel, above all else. What else are we trying to leave behind?

How impressive our careers were? How much money we made?

I watched my family come together and support each other during a time of loss. They weren’t focused on anything but making sure one another knew that they were loved and supported.

I see this often in life. I see people come together in moments of adversity. Moments of loss or tragedy. I see them lean on one another during times where they recognize that presence means more than anything else in the world.

I see people making each other feel better. Comforting each other. Putting aside differences, laying to rest their pride.

In the end, we will all leave in an unpleasant way. We will all walk out the door of life before the ones we love are truly ready for us to go.

In the end, we will leave them with the memories and the lasting impressions of our own personal imprint on their lives. We will leave them with how we made them feel.

The struggle is indeed important. The suffering and agony is sometimes vital. Though it never feels right when we’re going through it, if we make it to the other side we’re often better for it.

It was ultimately the end for her. But I will never forget what my grandmother taught me when she left this world behind.

Thanks, Grandma.

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Life is scarier than vampire bats.

It’s true that we’re often pursuing comfort on this journey. We seem to stretch ourselves thin just trying to succeed and find peace. But peace never grows us in the way that discomfort does. No, unfortunately chaos and destruction are better teachers.

The idea that we have to go through hard things to become calloused makes sense on paper, but it’s not ideal for the heart. It doesn’t feel good to hurt.

The Bible talks about suffering. It says that trials produce endurance, and endurance, character.

Endurance: Dealing with a difficult situation without giving way
Character: The distinct mental and moral qualities of an individual

Going through hard things produce the better people that we become on the other side.

Of course we’re tempted with the question, Why me?

When we’re facing trials that we feel are undeserved or unnecessary, there is a tendency to want to get to the bottom of it. But these trials contribute to a necessary resilience—an ability to take more shit, basically.

Take parenting for example; A parent is forced back into a thoughtful unselfishness time and again. They are seemingly not allowed to have a bad day. Any kind of chink in the armor will show vulnerability that they cannot afford.

Stretched to their means, day after day, just trying to do the right thing. A parent with one child wonders how someone endures two little monsters. Those with two wonder how people can add a third, and so on.

The truth is that you never know your capacity to adjust to change and expectation until it’s forced onto you.

Whether provoked or not, hard times are called hard times for a reason. They have a way of forming us into more confident people, though. The more we go through, the more we realize we can handle.

Sometimes we feel lost, we feel unconfident, confused, and jaded. We feel that we’ve had enough.

Just when we feel like we can’t take anymore, we take more. We bend further, but we don’t break.

Life’s got a harsh way of showing us something we had all along. Our badassery tends to appear when we’re facing a kind of hell.

And to be clear, you can cry and still be a badass.

Nobody says it better than one of my favorite badasses, Rocky Balboa:

The world ain’t all sunshine and rainbows. It is a very mean and nasty place and it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me, or nobody is going to hit as hard as life. But it ain’t about how hard you hit; it’s about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward. How much you can take, and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done. Now, if you know what you’re worth, then go out and get what you’re worth. But you got to be willing to take the hit, and not pointing fingers saying you ain’t where you are because of him, or her, or anybody. Cowards do that and that ain’t you. You’re better than that!

Life. Scarier than vampire bats. Maybe.

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“Daddy! Nice catch!”

My daughter yells this as I reel in another stellar one-handed catch of a football in the living room.

It feels good to impress them. My kids sometimes look at me like I can do anything. At times, this broken world tries to take us down with it. I often think about the way children resolve complex problems with the simplest solutions.

Kids seem to be above things like pride, prejudice, and comparative nature. Of course children can sometimes be mean to each other, it’s in us all. But they have this impressionable psyche that seems so innocent and fun.

I’m not the best at anything I do. But there’s something so special about loving their little souls with everything in me, and having them look right at me, raise their eyebrows, and say “Wooowww!” when I do something rather routine.

They make the mundane somehow extraordinary.

They think I can do anything. They trust that I can solve any one of their little problems. There’s a level of invincibility I feel when I help them with something they can’t do themselves. I don’t feel special, but the feeling they give me is.

As parents, we set up for ourselves an impossible quest — to be everything our children need us to be, when they need us to be it. We can never deliver every time. But for every time we do, they are right there knowing we could do it all along.

This parental endeavor can make us feel exhausted and overwhelmed. It can have us shouldering an insurmountable responsibility. The idea that we can shatter our child’s confidence in us if we can’t pull something off can have us feeling a lot of pressure.

But it’s also a bit of a fallacy. My kids have seen me fail while trying to accomplish various tasks. They’ve seen me struggle to put a thousand toys together on Christmas.

And I’ve never seen someone shrug off a failure as well as a kid who has better things to do than sulk. I was in my daughter’s room one day and I apparently answered one of her questions wrong. She was quick to correct me and followed with, “Oh well, sometimes you’re wrong, sometimes you’re right”.

Story of my life.

I know over the years the impressions on my kids will lessen. I know one day they’ll be able to do all the things better than I can. Life has a way of keeping us humble like that.

One day I’ll be the impressed one, needing their help.

But I don’t know if there’s a more powerful feeling in this world than having your child believe that you can do anything.

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Chris Farley was one of my favorite comedic actors growing up. He unfortunately lost his life too soon. In one of his movies (Black Sheep), he starts tumbling down a hill violently. About half way down he barely catches a weed that is growing out of the side of the hill.

He has a moment where he pleads with the “little roots” to hold strong. They are the only thing stopping him from falling the rest of the way down as he holds on.

There are Earth-shattering moments in life that can bring us straight to our knees. Usually the only thing that keeps us from falling on our face in these moments is the thing we catch on the way down.

The significance that gets buried in the turmoil of these moments rests within the testimony that is created because of them. While in the muck, we rarely are able to look around and see all the ways we're growing. We're simply trying like hell to survive. To get out. To see a clearer day.

The true value is found in hindsight. Life experience can be an incredible gift that comes at a crushing cost. But if you've ever been around a wise and gentle soul — someone who can simultaneously care about the details of your life and also speak into it unlike anyone you know — then you can rest assured they have seen some darkness too.

It's in the dark where we learn to find resources without the light. It's in the dark where we're forced to feel our way around until we eventually find it — the switch. We can't see in the dark. But seeing isn't the point anyway, rather adapting might be.

Sometimes in the free-fall, we end up reaching out a desperate hand hoping to catch those roots that can hold strong enough for a little while longer. They often come in the form of the people we hold most dear.

The people that will never judge us for the extra tears and will relish in the opportunity to feel the weight of our struggle.

In my life, I'm constantly testing my roots and hoping that they hold strong for just another hour. But I think the sweetest part in it all, isn't that they'll forever stop me from falling.

It's that if they do happen to give way, I know that they are going to endure the fall with me. All the way to the bottom.

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I’ve been afraid of fear.

I’ve fought, both with my physical hands and with my emotional frustration.

I’ve held resentment, grudges, and distaste for people and things.

I’ve been envious.

I’ve been wrong.

I’ve felt wet clothes against my skin, either from rain or sweat or tears.

I’ve been sunburned to blisters and I’ve been chilled to the bone.

I’ve fallen apart in front of someone I didn’t know.

I’ve been embarrassed, criticized, underestimated, and manipulated.

I’ve been a friend, a dreamer, a believer, and a determined S.O.B.

I’ve laughed myself to tears and I’ve cried myself to smiles.

I’ve been so full of sushi that I felt sick to my stomach.

I’ve been tired. Of both people and life’s demands.

I’ve felt hope and hopelessness in the same situation.

I’ve been misunderstood.

I’ve had a chance that I’ve taken and missed many more that I haven’t.

I’ve been in love, out of it, and back in again.

I’ve spent a day worrying about something that didn’t matter.

I’ve seen a sunrise that taught me more about life than any dollar ever could.

I’ve tried and failed.

I’ve tried and failed. Again.

I’ve felt like I was done only to discover I just started.

I’ve had my bank account in the red.

I’ve complained until I got my way.

I’ve chased and chased and chased until I couldn’t run anymore.

I’ve seen death and birth.

I’ve been mostly unworthy throughout my life.

I’ve never hated anyone.

I’ve always believed in second chances. And thirds.

I’ve made it a goal to never run out of forgiveness.

I’ve learned how to apologize best by watching children do it.

I’ve lived a short enough life to know I should ask more questions than I answer.

I’ve lived a long enough one to know better.

I’ve learned that I’m a work in progress and that I only have to worry about the progress if the trying stops.

This is the human experience.

I’ve found that there isn’t anything in excess that can ultimately satisfy one’s hunger for truly living. Breathing the air is a precious experience that I cannot afford to regret or take for granted.

Every day is an opportunity to find a hidden smile on another face. Every day is an opportunity for choice — enthusiasm or pessimism. Every day is an opportunity to reject the idea that I have it worse than anyone else and accept the fact that we’re all just trying.

Every day is an opportunity.

Today has been enough.

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I remember when I was younger, I went to my dad’s friend’s house with him, and his friend was showing him something in his garage.

I don’t remember exactly what it was, but I remember he really wanted my dad to be impressed. He was trying to show off in a way.

I think my dad’s reaction was something like, “cool”.

Truthfully, I knew my dad didn’t care that much. I think he was trying to make his buddy feel better. I’ve never actually seen my dad very impressed by things.

And it checks out. Any time I met one of his friends, they were always funny. That was the thing that appealed to my dad. I eventually put two and two together and thought, no wonder I think dad is so funny. His friends are all hilarious!

My Dad has always been more impressed by humor. I noticed it at a young age. He always made my brothers and I laugh. He wanted to “goof around”. I loved it.

He was never really impressed by stuff. I think I have some of that. I hope, anyway.

There is a world now where people get to post everything online. Their entire life. Every accomplishment, every new car or house, every time they mow their damn lawn. It’s all on their profile.

Home projects, boats, new vehicles, new jobs, you name it. It’s there.

People are proud. But pride needs to be fed. It needs validation. It needs attention.

As long as the internet exists, that validation will be there. In one way or another. I think the thing we’re losing in this modern era is the magic of individuality. Better yet, personality.

Anything that’s shared online has already been done. It’s already been accomplished, bought, owned, used, and sold. There is nothing you can own or buy that doesn’t have a better version materialistically (wow, big word).

Connection with others is the cure. My dad had friends that were funny. I totally get it. I think I followed that formula to lifelong friendships that aren’t based in materialistic value. They are based in laughter and connection.

Life is short. I write about it all the time, like a broken record. What are we doing if we’re not connecting with other people? What are we doing if we have every material thing but lack an interest in really getting to know someone?

The very definition of lonely is, “sad because one has no friends or company”. It isn’t sad because a person lacks a Ferrari. It isn’t focused on money. It isn’t focused on any sort of material possession.

Lonely is “sad because one has no friends”. That really is depressing.

My dad wasn’t impressed by a big garage or a sports car. He wanted to laugh with his friends.

Have you ever had a better time than when you were laughing with your friends?

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Ever hear someone talk about their past accomplishments? It’s as if the top of the mountain was the end. The decline follows, and then acceptance later.

Constant reliance on victories of the past leaves us with a damaged ego. We begin to reach for more. At some point or another, we all have to face this debacle. This confrontation from our past self. Who are you?

Former glory.

We hear all the wonderful quotes about keeping your eyes forward, not looking back, always having a goal in mind. But when the past looks so pretty, how can we not wonder if we’re losing at life a little bit?

There’s a challenging recognition there. This idea that we just might not be aging like fine wine after all. It tempts us in our conversations. It tempts us in getting to know other people.

We want them to know who we used to be.

The things we’ve been through — our past accomplishments — these things have built us into the person we are!

But if we can just find a way to see past that fear. To see that insecurity for what it is — we’re scared that our best years are behind us. We’re afraid that we’ve actually already lived life.

That doesn’t have to be the case.

Instead there emerges this beautiful opportunity to become something we haven’t been before. To become a version of ourselves that hasn’t existed yet.

Obviously it doesn’t happen over night, and that’s overrated anyway.

The ability to overlook our previous endeavors for an unknown tomorrow is truly an accomplishment worth achieving. Yesterday’s person will always be there, eventually buried in the past so far that you don’t remember who that person is anymore.

Our former self is a reminder that it is just that — a former.

A constant focus on what once was, robs us of our ability to develop ourselves in the present. It turns courage into a coward. It causes bravery to seek shelter. Confidence becomes insecure.

You are not what you did. You are not who you used to be. You are new today. You are a half percent different than you were yesterday.

Take advantage of that.

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