One had been given a fresh coat of paint over the summer. The other had not.

This may seem like a small detail but research shows a correlation between how well-maintained a classroom is and a whole host of student outcomes. These range from absenteeism to student achievement. Perhaps most significant is that students often see how well-maintained a classroom is as a reflection of their own worth and belonging.

If a classroom is well-cared for it can indicate to a student that they are cared for. And unfortunately, vice versa.

A coat of paint is not a panacea for solving disparities in education but is a start.

Other research indicates that simple gestures like teachers smiling at their students when they enter the classroom impact student performance. Appearances and first impressions matter. They are a small and simple signal to the student that they matter too.

Facilities management in education is a challenge.The logistics of painting a college can be daunting. The costs add up quickly on large campuses with multiple buildings and hundreds if not thousands of classrooms to maintain.

Yet the cost to paint one classroom is manageable. And smiles of course are free.

While I’m talking about a very specific example in two different classrooms, we can see these disparities in all kinds of spaces - including public parks, our streets, our storefronts, hospitals and on and on.

What is one to do when they see spaces that need to be better maintained? Of course we can report the issue to the responsible parties in hopes that they will address it. Undoubtedly they are aware and perhaps have intentions and plans to do so - if not the resources. But while we wait, there is something else we can do.

Pick up a brush.

In 2002, over 2500 volunteers - organized by Hands On DC - showed up to paint thirty public schools in Washington, DC.

In New York City, an organization called Publicolor has programs that organize both volunteers and students to paint their own schools each year.

So many of our problems seem impossible to tackle given their scale and the real or imagined red tape one needs to cut through before enacting change. But these examples and others show what is possible, when we self-organize and take the first steps to making the world a little brighter and more welcoming for others.

Recommendation of the Week: People around the world are mourning the loss of Dolly Parton. Her organization Imagination Library was started to address literacy which was very personal to her as her father could not read. The organization has donated over 300 million books to date. If you’re a fan of hers, perhaps consider making a donation in her memory here

Share this with someone who picks up a brush for others.

I fall into the former category.

It was a day marked on the calendar for months. One I anticipated with great sadness. Just booking the hotel for the drop-off weekend brought a few tears to my eyes. I could only imagine that the actual moment of saying goodbye would be a watershed and waterfall moment.

Yet when the “See You Later” time - as they call it - came - it was anything but. The morning move went smoothly, clothes unpacked, furniture assembled, posters hung on the wall. No stress or drama as my wife, daughter and I worked together to make her dorm room feel like home. When we said our goodbyes, it was predictably brief. A warm hug, a few words (“I’m proud of you, have fun”) and an exchange of “I love you’s” - she walked to her dorm and my wife and I to our car. I shed a tear or two as I flashed a knowing glance with my daughter and smiled.

The next day was orientation for her and for us. William & Mary has a reputation for creating a welcoming environment and it appears to be well-earned. Our family orientation made me feel like she would be in good hands. The director of Health and Wellness told us our children are going to get a whole lot of “mattering” - referring to the work of Jennifer Beheny Wallace. The director of student support services said “Don’t worry, I’ll look after your babies.” A large meeting in the basketball arena featured the University President, the Mayor of Williamsburg and others - all echoing the school’s guiding principle, “All Who Come Here, Belong Here.” At the end, they surprised us by bringing in all our children who sat up in the bleachers and cheered and waved at us.

Upperclassman lined the roads flashing welcome signs, dancing and singing. A Q&A session with students included all of them saying that the best thing about this school was its people - finding different - but equally warm words to describe them - “supportive,” “caring,” “loving.” Just another example of why they were named one of the friendliest schools recently by the Princeton Review.

The environment, the people, all of the opportunities in front of her - left me feeling so excited and hopeful for my daughter. This drop-off felt so right for her.

At the same time, there are three definitions for drop-off. One is the literal experience I just described - “taking a person or an object to a place and leaving them there.” The others “to decrease or decline” and “a sudden steep drop” began to sink in as we pulled away in our car and really hit home, well when we finally arrived home two days later.

The dinner table with her chair empty. The bedroom in pristine condition. The waiting for a call or text from her. All stark reminders that I would have less of her. A decrease or decline in our time together, our late night chats, car rides, movies, singing together, bad dad jokes, asking for my help or opinion. All of it would be in decline for the next four years. The reality was also that this was a sudden and steep drop. Going from seeing a person you love every day to not seeing them for weeks or months at a time, is and will be tough. Having less of what you love always is.

Thinking of this - not being able to look at her empty chair at the dinner table - finally led me to the good cry I had been anticipating for months. I walked back into my bedroom and let it all out.

Later that night we received some more detailed texts and videos from her first few days. This morning we Facetimed. All felt a little more right in the world.

Drop-offs - whether it be pre-school, camp or college - are by design uneasy, but necessary milestones for kids and parents alike. In most cases, it represents more for them and less for you. They get connected to new and old friends, other caring adults; exposure to new environments, experiences, and knowledge; more freedom and independence You simply get less of them.

As hard as it may be - for their growth and as a reflection of your love - that seems like a trade-off you have to make every single time.

This Week’s Recommendation: Take a walk down memory lane and break out some pictures of when your kids (or even you) were young. It will bring a wistful smile to your face. Consider listening to “You’re Going to Miss This” by Trace Adkins or “It Won’t Be Like this For Long” by Darius Rucker while you do it. Then grab some tissues.

Share this with someone experiencing a drop-off - from either side.

In the simplest of terms, it is a trip to someplace else.

Most call it a vacation. Defined as “time away from work or school used for rest, travel or fun.” The Latin and French root of the word means to be free.

Similarly some associate this time with an escape. Others an opportunity to explore - either parts of the world or themselves.

Having just returned from two weeks away in Italy with my family - none of these terms feel quite right to me.

Seth Godin once wrote “Instead of wondering when your next vacation is, maybe you should set up a life you don’t need to escape from.”

This is a sentiment that rings true for me. I love my work, home and most aspects of my life - so escaping this is not the goal.

Similarly, given that my wife and I still had many responsibilities while away - looking after and providing for our three children and making various choices of what to do and how to get there - it didn’t always feel particularly free.

And yes, while we did some new exploration - like visiting the wonder that is Pompeii or swimming in the open water of Sorrento- I had previously been to many of the sites and places we visited.

Instead, I would call it - to borrow a common Italian phrase, “passare del tempo in famiglia.” You don’t need to speak Italian to figure out the obvious English translation - “to spend time in family.”

The idea of “in family” is so wonderful to me. It is an active phrasing versus the more passive “with family.”

For almost two weeks we ate, walked, talked, and experienced life in the company of each other exclusively. This is distinct in comparison to the busy and distracted daily lives that often seem subconsciously designed to keep us apart.

In less than a week, we will drop our oldest off to college. Opportunities to be “in family” with all five of us will have to wait until Thanksgiving break - which feels like an eternity to me.

For comparison, during our twelve days “in family, in Italy” we ate more meals together than we will likely eat together in the next nine months combined.

Like any time, when people spend so much time together, there were inevitable moments of friction, complaints, conflicts and problems. Many of which were exacerbated by the 100 degree heat, lost luggage and concerns over a sick dog at home.

At the same time, there were many more moments for me that I will never forget; a late night conversation with my youngest about god, history and art; hanging laundry on a clothes line outside the window of our apartment in Florence with another daughter (fun fact, the place had previously been home to Napoleon’s sister, a convent and a brothel); another late night chat with my oldest helping her work through the overwhelming feelings of getting ready to go to college; stealing a kiss with my wife in the Mediterranean sea; the many laughs and stories shared over delicious meals.

Before we left, I called my Mom to say goodbye. I asked her if she wanted me to bring her anything back. Her wise and selfless reply - “No, just go spend time with your family. It all goes by too quickly. Just enjoy each other.”

And so I did.

On our last full day there, floating in the water with one of my daughters, she shared the observation that “no matter what happens, you always have a good time on vacation. As long as we’re spending time together. It’s the only thing that matters to you. You just like being with us.”

And so I do.

Now back they have scattered to the four corners of our town, sliding effortlessly into the routines and rhythms of their lives, seeing friends they’ve missed.

And here I am, sitting alone in the local library writing this, longing for the next chance for the five of us to be ‘in famiglia” again.

This Week’s Recommendation: On the very long flights, I had the opportunity to catch a few movies worth checking out - they offer reflections on life, family and how we spend our time. The Christophers, Hamnet, H is for Hawk. They were all remarkable for different reasons but moved me all the same.

Share this with your family - perhaps with an invitation to plan some time “in famiglia.”

Frantically loading our car to return from a trip to visit family, I slammed my head - not once but twice - into the sturdy, unforgiving frame of our Ford Flex. I know, I’m an idiot.

The initial daze and pain wore off but over the following days, I felt a growing fullness and fog in my head. A pressure from within was pressing on my forehead as if something was trying to escape.

The headache and daze were exacerbated anytime I used a screen. The smaller the screen and the more scrolling the worse I felt. Still in a desire to work, write and make progress against an unrelenting “to do” list, I resisted the number one recommendation when concussed - to avoid screens.

Eventually I realized the error of my ways as my symptoms failed to subside. I was also noticing more issues with recalling information that is typically top of mind but now stuck behind a sludge of swollen brain tissue.

So I took a break. I went off screen for most of the weekend. Not picking up my phone at all and only using my computer when absolutely necessary.

The improvement in my state of mind was noticeable. At a time when I would have normally been fixated by something on my computer, I instead sat on my patio, closed my eyes and just listened to the sounds around me. The beautiful calls of birds I could not name, the rumbling of cars going here and there, the wind causing the subtle brushing sound of trees swaying. At one point, my eyes still closed, I tried to locate where each chirp or whir was coming from. It was such a peaceful exercise.

On a surface level, one could say I was doing nothing. I would argue I was doing more than I would typically be doing. I was being present. I was deeply listening. I was using my mind in a way that I don’t typically do. And of course, I was relaxing and I was probably healing.

While I wouldn’t wish a concussion on anyone - and unfortunately I believe I’ve had more than a few - there is unintended benefit. It forced me to put away my devices and see more plainly the obvious discomfort they inflict upon us.

The eyes weren’t intended to scroll. They were made to see. Our minds weren’t made to be constantly distracted. They are there to help us focus.

Perhaps, this week for a day, pretend you have a concussion. Tell your boss or your family that you’re going off line for health reasons. You’d be telling the truth.

This Week’s Recommendation: Find a seemingly quiet spot outside on a beautiful day. Sit somewhere comfortably and close your eyes and just listen.

Share this with someone who could use a break from a screen.

Yet as annoyed as we may be, imagine the construction worker toiling long hours during the hottest and muggiest time of the year.

Last week, as I was driving to City College, I came upon a street that has been perpetually under construction for as long as I can remember making this commute. Massive metal trench plates covered holes in the road causing rumbling that tested the shocks on my car. As I passed one worker holding a flag intended to direct traffic, I came upon the second holding a stop sign.

He approached my car asking if I had seen the first flagger. I sensed I was in trouble and said, “No sorry, did I miss something?” He smiled and responded, “No man, you’re doing great. I just wanted to tell you to have an awesome day.” Reflexively, I told him “He was doing great too and thanks for being so positive.” Matter of factly he replied, “What other choice do you have?” We fist bumped and went about the rest of our day - not before I noticed in my rearview mirror that he was starting a similarly wonderful exchange with the driver behind me.

The word construction can conjure a knee-jerk negative response. But the root word, “construct” means simply “to build or create.”

Everyday we are building or creating something. Perhaps, the easiest of these is connection.

As I went about my day, his words had worn off. I did not feel as if “was doing great.” Various things had gone a little south and my day ended with a thud. Lying in bed before I drifted off to sleep, I recounted my day as I often do and remembered his kind and jovial words. This small act had in fact, constructed a lasting memory, created inspiration for this post and all in all made a good day.

You are doing great. We are always building or creating something - a life, a day, a moment. Doing so with joy or positivity isn’t always easy - especially in hot or noisy conditions both of the literal and metaphorical kind. Yet it is still a choice available to us.

This Week’s Recommendation: This morning, I finished Dave Eggers’ new novel, Contrapposto. It’s a story of friendship, love, and most of all art. He writes perceptively and challenges us to consider what makes art and a good life. Highly recommend.

Share this with someone who is constructing something in a way you admire.

A thrilling World Cup Final with my family that regularly produced “oooh’s” and “ahh’s”;

A person shamelessly photobomb the winner’s celebration, producing audible “ughs” in our home;

The Broadway cast of Titanique having the time of their lives while spoofing the movie Titanic, resulting in an hour and a half of my constant laughs and guffaws;

The movie version of Dear Evan Hanson, that landed more heavily than the first time I saw it, producing streams of tears;

Biblical level thunderstorm replete with lightning strikes on both sides of the Hudson River, leaving me in awe of nature’s power;

A friend poignantly deliver the eulogy at her mother’s funeral, filling me with both admiration for her strength and deep sadness for her loss;

A glowing pregnant woman in a flowing dress helping her cute toddler stumble up the steps to our local library, forcing a smile on my face after a tough morning;

A House sub-committee hearing on C-SPAN until 2:00AM investigating how the our naitonal museums reflect American History, leaving me fascinated by how differently political parties see our collective story.

My almost 10 year old dog, laying on my chest, alternatively nuzzling his head beneath my arm and raising it to investigate a sound or smell, causing me to wonder how his canine brain actually works.

These are just a few of what I watched this past week. By watched, I mean devoted my full attention to what was right in front of me. Fully invested, without distraction, by the actions of another - whether that be for a few minutes or a few hours.

Reflecting upon them now, I am amazed by the range of emotions and actions simply watching others effortlessly produced in myself.

We sometimes assume watching anything is a passive - if not wasteful - use of our time. On the contrary, when truly present for what is right in front of our face, it can cause us to see others, ourselves and our world in a different, more expansive light.

What did you watch with intention this week?

Recommendation of the Week: Make time to watch something without distraction. Afterwards, notice how it makes you feel and ask yourself if it is worth watching more things like that.

Share this with someone you enjoy watching.

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Before jumping to conclusions and assuming the stereotypical DMV experience. Let me first say that the people were all wonderful. A young man greeted me at the door asking me what I needed and handing me the required paperwork. A young lady escorted me to the scanner to check in and offered me a pen to help fill out the form. I sat and waited only seven minutes before my number was called.

As I approached my designated counter #23, another young woman with the initial R on her name tag and long acrylic nails greeted me after first taking a few moments to unwrap a Starburst for herself. A task made almost comically more difficult by the afore-mentioned nails. She checked out my form noting my Christmas birthday - like most people do - adding that her ex-husband was also born on Christmas (albeit 20 years after me). Seeing my birth year, she looked up and said matter of factly, “You look good.” The “for your age” was implied but I’ll take it.

That’s where the fun ended. Her computer told her she could not process my request for a replacement license that I had misplaced last week. Apparently there was a hold in the system stemming from a violation in Pennsylvania. The specifics of which, I would have to call the DMV in PA to find out.

After multiple calls and holds and referrals to the correct person, I was informed that there was an unresolved violation stemming from an incident in 1995. My license in Pennsylvania, which I haven’t had or needed since I moved to New York decades ago - was somehow suspended. She admitted that this should have been resolved and was likely a clerical error. However, she was not authorized to do anything so she would have to refer it to the Resolution Department. I asked if there was anything she could do to help expedite this and she said she would send a note to her manager but was unsure if he could do anything. It would take up to six business days before I would hear back. I would just have to wait.

R with the acrylic nails was kind and understanding. She said years ago, I wouldn’t have had a problem but now they integrated data from all fifty states and mistakes happen. As I left, she said, “That sucks but I guess maybe I’ll see you next week.”

Bureaucracy and the delays they cause are often unnecessary. Automation - designed to simplify things - often compounds matters. Individuals who see obvious errors or injustices are not empowered to resolve them on their own. Resulting in more delays and logjams in systems and in lives.

On my end, this is an inconvenience as I should not drive without a physical license. For others, the implications are more serious. Just last night, I heard a report that many people will likely be denied the ability to vote - because some voter rolls don’t recognize a naturalized citizen as an eligible voter. Earlier this week, I heard stories at work where people weren’t getting paid on time due to migration to a new payroll processing system. In other cases, bureaucratic delays result in people no longer being able to access much needed programs and support - ranging from health care to food assistance.

As we move increasingly into a world of big data systems and AI, inevitably there will be more delays, mistaken identities, records or documents that cause more headaches and harms than they should.

For those who design these systems, I hope they look for opportunities to account for unintended consequences, build in ways to empower workers to immediately resolve obvious mistakes and remember that behind every number is a person just trying to go about their days with as little friction as possible.

And for those on the front line in customer service, thank you for your grace and kindness. R with the acrylic nails and her “You look good” comment is the only thing keeping me from banging my head against the wall right now.

This Week’s Recommendation: Find a way to take a little bit of friction out of someone’s life. A little act to remove a bump or a roadblock out of their way can go a long way.

UPDATE: I received a call a few hours ago from Kimberly at the PA DMV. Her manager did in fact go over to the Resolution Department and they were able to take care of it right away. The roadblock cleared, my new license is now on its way. Faith is restored. May others follow the example of the NY and PA DMVs.

Please share this with someone who might be frustrated by the friction all around us.

The first was Mary Oliver: Saved by the Beauty of the World. It was a wonderful film exploring the life of the poet whose powers of observation - particularly of the natural world - were unmatched.

The second was The Karate Kid.

On the surface, these films could not be any different. But they - in different ways - reflect the cathartic value writing provides to both the writer and their audience.

The Oliver documentary begins by sharing a poem describing her escape to the woods, fleeing her home as a teenager for a week. The reasons for her escape are not shared at that point, although they are foreshadowed by another poem describing her relationships with her parents.

For most of her career, Oliver cast her vision to the beauty of the natural world. Using nature as a mirror to our own soul. It was only later in her career when she more explicitly turned inward, revealing more about her own life, including the abuse she suffered at the hands of her father.

Abuse in her home - a place where we are meant to feel safe - contributed to her need to find beauty out in the wild - where sadly many of us have grown more fearful.

Fear also played a role in the writing of The Karate Kid. The story was inspired in part by the life of its screenwriter, Robert Mark Kamen. He had been beaten up by a gang at the age of seventeen at the World’s Fair in New York and turned to martial arts to protect himself. He rejected his first instructor as being too violent and vengeful, eventually finding a Japanese instructor who studied under a master whose name was Chōjun Miyagi. Miyagi - like the character in the film- believed that ”the ultimate aim of karate-do was to build character, conquer human misery, and find spiritual freedom.”

Catharsis is “the process of releasing strong or repressed emotions—such as fear, pity, or anger—that results in relief, renewal, or psychological healing.”

In the case of Oliver and Kamen, their catharsis involved writing. Their own healing process has presumably played a role in the healing of others. It inspires us to look inward to confront our repressed emotions. We cheer for the Karate Kid when he wins his final match and finds balance, because we appreciate, understand or have experienced feeling bullied, unwelcome and out of balance. When we read or hear Oliver’s poems, we are grateful to feel the beauty of the world leap of the page even while accepting the suffering that too often comes with it.

Catharsis is a painful and powerful experience. It more deeply connects us to ourselves and - when shared - to others. Writing has helped serve that purpose in my own life.

Thanks to all the writers out there who put pain to pen, bravely putting themselves out there in the hopes that they - and by extension we - may heal.

Recommendation of the Week: I stumbled upon the new album, The Visitor from Sienna Spiro. She has a beautiful voice that is both powerful and aching. My favorite two tracks are Great Expectation and Pure. The album itself is another act of catharsis. In an interview, she shared that she has always felt like a visitor in her own life. This album is a result of a two year process working through that feeling.

Consider sharing this with someone who might welcome a cathartic experience.

As our 250th birthday approaches, things feel a little more complicated, uncomfortable and of course, hotter. Some see jingoistic displays of American patriotism through a very specific political filter while others choose this as an opportunity to look at America through the lens of how she has not lived up to her founding principles. We see our history in black or white without nuance. There are States of America but not as United as we would like.

“United” comes from the Latin term meaning “joined together.” From the very beginning this joining together included people from different backgrounds and beliefs. This holds true today. We can be united and have different beliefs. Not just between each other but within ourselves.

I am proud to be an American AND not always proud of what others do in her name.

I am grateful for the opportunities America has given me AND wish it could afford those same opportunities to more people.

I support our soldiers and veterans AND do not support every conflict our country chooses to engage in.

I respect the office of the Presidency AND don’t approve of how some presidents have disrespected that office.

I am inspired by many events of our nation’s history AND ashamed by others.

I love my country AND believe we can do better.

It’s worth noting that there has always been division in America. Even during our bi-centennial, that little boy waving a flag in Boston? It was during the Boston busing crisis that viciously divided neighbors and families among racial and class lines.

To be united as a country does not require us to be united in all things, just the most important ones. It also helps if we acknowledge our contradictions between us and even within ourselves.

As Walt Whitman wrote in Song of Myself:

“Do I contradict myself?

Very well then I contradict myself,

(I am large, I contain multitudes.)”

As we celebrate our nation’s birthday, perhaps one of the most valuable presents we could give ourselves AND each other is to recognize and understand these contradictions; realizing that inherent in the idea of United - is in fact our differences.

Recommendation of the Week: Take this brief seven question quiz - courtesy of Seth Godin’s blog - that shows how different/unique your own set of beliefs might be from other Americans. It’s interesting that less than 2% of Americans share my exact beliefs in this quiz AND yet I feel so connected to my fellow Americans.

Consider sharing this with someone who you’d like to feel more united with.

I strolled through old neighborhoods where I lived and worked many years ago. Recalling nights out that began with a burger at the Corner Bistro and included stops in bars like the White Horse Tavern and Barrow’s Pub. The next day we nursed hangovers over brunch at the Bus Stop Cafe or La Bonbonniere diner. I retraced the morning walk to work - popped into the building that was not just where I called work for fifteen years but also where I met many of my dearest friends and most importantly my wife.

I paused at a park where I would go to read or reflect, thinking about old friends - a few of which are no longer with us - and others I don’t see nearly often enough. I thought of people and stories and laughs and awesome times.

Nostalgia comes from the root “nostos” meaning returning home and “algos” meaning pain. It was originally used to describe deep homesickness but has evolved to mean a broader yearning for times gone by.

Despite this yearning, science tells us - and my experience corroborates - that nostalgic experiences actually provide us with comfort. It makes us feel loved, increases our self-esteem, optimism and even life satisfaction. It can be triggered by old photos, music, stories and as in my case, place.

Without these triggers and others, we forget most of our lived experience. Other research shows that we only remember 5% of our life - unless aided by prompts.

Earlier in the week, my wife and I pulled out from storage a bin filled with old schoolwork and pictures from our oldest daughter. We lined the halls and walls of our home with poems, drawings and pictures marking her growth from kindergarten to high school graduate. It provided a literal walk down memory lane for her and our entire family. I could see and feel the warmth and joy it provided to us all.

Of course, our past isn’t all rainbows and unicorns. It includes stress, pain, loss, heartbreak, struggle and uncertainty. Yet reflecting back, reminds me that we move on, get through it, and if we’re lucky - as I have been - feel loved and supported all along the way.

If you’re looking for a little pick me up - try picking up an old photo, or your phone to call an old friend - or perhaps better yet go on a nice long walk somewhere in your past that reminds you of how far you’ve come and who has loved you along the way.

Recommendation of the Week: I recently read the book, Transcription by Ben Lerner. The short novel is a reflection on memory, experience and family. It was thought-provoking and on several occasions incredibly moving - bringing me to tear up unexpectedly.

Consider sharing this with a friend from your past.

And yet within a matter of minutes it did.

Shortly thereafter, a rainbow manifested across the clouded sky. Moments later it was gone.

As the sunset approached, the winds directed their energy across the tree tops - each little branch swaying like hundreds of little children shuffling around a playground.

The gloaming then made its ways around the sky, a radiant orange sitting on cloud tops.

The wind soon whisked the clouds away, leaving an empty and calm sky.

Invisible forces of wind and light shape shifted my view many times over within a matter of fifteen minutes. So significant and varied the change one might have thought it was time lapse photography.

And so it can be with change. It can bring something beautiful into your life and then just as quickly whisk it away, only to bring something different but equally inspiring before your eyes soon after.

A day earlier, I was in another windy setting. Sitting on a football field, watching my oldest daughter graduate high school, giving the valedictorian’s speech.

Seeing her stand in front of hundreds of people, speaking with such poise, perspective, vulnerability and confidence, I felt immense pride. I also realized that these winds of change were coming for me too.

Beginning in the fall, she will be off to college and I will no longer have a front row seat to the beauty and energy of her shifting transitions traipsing across our shared sky on a daily basis.

I find this thought devastating. As a result, I try to avoid it as much as possible. Watching her on that graduation stage, it was unavoidable.

On Father’s Day a few days later, I found myself reading this article on that same patio. It was a daughter reflecting upon the impact of her father both in life and after his passing. I found some comfort in its closing where she writes, “He always comes along with me in my mind.”

Years ago my daughter asked for my help with a science project. Each night, she asked if I would go outside with her to observe the phase of the moon. I find solace - perhaps even some excitement - in being able to bring her “along in my mind” whenever I want or need to in the fall. Looking up into that same sky, knowing that underneath that same moon - a few hundred miles away - she may be doing the same. Imagining what wonderful experiences she brought to life that day.

Recommendation of the Week: Last night I stumbled upon the movie, Paper Moon. It is a touching and funny film about a father and daughter finding each other. If you haven’t seen it, check it out. You’ll be blown away by the 9-year old Tatum O’Neal’s Oscar winning performance and moved by their connection.

Consider sharing this with someone dealing with the winds of change in their lives right now.

It is the location of a personal writing retreat I have been on for the last two plus days.

To retreat is to withdraw or pull back. Sometimes it is from conflict, other times from society or even ourselves.

A retreat at a convent is, as you might imagine, a unique experience. There are only a dozen or so guests here at this vast property. Most of which are here as part of two different silent retreat groups. Six or so people sitting around tables at meals or benches outside, saying not a word to each other for days.

Because so many are on silent retreats, the rest of us are expected to likewise be as quiet as possible. This creates a strange game when you pass by someone in the halls. No one speaks but rather smiles and nods.

The rooms are sparse. A bed, a desk and chair and a recliner. Bathrooms are shared. The doors do not lock. The assumption being who would dare steal something at a convent!

Three meals are served each day and you have a forty-five minute window to come eat. Where again you will sit in mostly silence. Unless the nuns are dining. They are a boisterous bunch.

There are no televisions, albeit one is rumored in the nun’s wing - where apparently they all gathered to watch the Knicks game.

I’ve walked the bucolic grounds that abut the Hudson River, mostly in solitude with the exception of a gaggle of wild turkeys who have their run of the place. I stumbled upon a small cemetery where the previous inhabitants are laid to rest. In reading the flat grave markers, it is remarkable to see how long these nuns lived. Most into their late eighties or nineties, several to over a hundred. The benefits of simple living.

One evening I visited the empty chapel. Sitting in the dark, lit only by the gloaming sun rays refracted through the stained glass. I prayed for my family and friends, those in conflict around the world, and people I know who are suffering right now.

And of course, I wrote. Which was, after all, the purpose of this retreat. I was perhaps more prolific in that regard than any other short burst I can recall. I wrote a draft for a magazine article, finished revising a second draft of the book I’m working on, started a play and am now writing this.

The retreat was organized in advance. I scheduled eight two hour writing blocks - each with a project in mind. I gave myself breaks lasting an hour or two in between. During those breaks, I ate or read or walked or swam at their pool. The latter was also an interesting experience as it was usually just me and the two lifeguards on hand - who again didn’t speak. With no choices I need to make for myself or others and so little to distract me, it was relatively easy to focus. The fact that this was a Christmas gift to me from my wife and one I had long resisted giving to myself, added a level of accountability that was most helpful.

Of course, retreats need not occur at a convent, over several days or even over night. We can withdraw from the daily distractions for a morning or afternoon. Finding any place that is novel and allows focus, contemplation or complete silence if that’s your thing.

Later today, I will rejoin my family. My retreat or withdrawal from them will be over - and not a minute too soon. For as much as I have enjoyed my time away from the noise, responsibility and chaos of family life, I am eager to be awash in it again.

Recommendation of the Week. Last night, after I had finished my last writing session, I laid in bed with my headphones on and listened to several episodes of Song Exploder, a podcast where an artist takes you through their creative process for a specific song. I loved it. Two specific episodes worth checking out are Noah Kahan sharing the story behind Stick Season and Brandi Carisle speaking about You and Me on the Rock. They are both so vulnerable in sharing their stories.

Consider sharing this with someone who could use a retreat themselves.

The scene itself is tense and heavy until suddenly it is neither. Watch the before and after here.

The word forgive comes from an Old English term “to give away” or “to give completely.” True forgiveness doesn’t come in half measures. You either forgive or you don’t.

Years ago, I received a Facebook message from a person I didn’t know. It was the wife of my former stepfather. He was dying and asked if I would come see him. He was often a mean, hateful, cruel man. His treatment of his stepchildren was undeniably harsh and almost never loving. His words stung, his looks scared, his overall presence scarred. At the time of this request, he had long been out of our lives. I tried to give him as little thought as possible. Avoidance was a means of protecting myself, choosing not to relive any of those days.

So I ignored the request. He died several months later.

Looking back, I regret this decision. I passed on the opportunity to perhaps provide relief to a man who was suffering. Actually two men.

In Shrinking, through flashbacks, we learn the backstory of the drunk driver. He was just out for dinner with friends and his fiancee. He was not supposed to drive that night - she was. Realizing that she had too much to drink, she asked if he could drive instead. Thinking he only had a few drinks, he tragically obliged. In other flashbacks, he seemed a kind and selfless man, fully devoted to his soul mate. The accident ended a life, and a relationship.

Later I would learn that my stepfather treated us similarly to the way his father treated him. He was seen as the black sheep in his family - never able to win the approval of this father. He drank too much, worked too hard and had no obvious instincts or tools for parenting or managing stress. He loved my mother and took on her three kids as we were a packaged deal. He was a decent provider even as he withheld resources and love - presumably out of a misguided attempt to build our independence or toughness.

When we are wronged - either in a single tragic moment or a thousand cuts over years - we understandably don’t pause to wonder what is behind their actions that hurt us. Forgetting that hurt people hurt people. In the place of searching for understanding, we allow resentment, anger, hurt and resentment to fester.

There is the pain that others cause us and the pain we continue to carry with us.

Forgiveness can free us from at least one of these.

This week’s recommendation: Check out the show Shrinking. Forgiveness is a recurring theme. It is a messy show of challenging dynamics and dysfunctional relationships. It will make you laugh and think. Most of all it will make you feel.

Consider sharing this with someone in need of forgiveness. Either receiving it or giving it. I can’t send this to my former stepfather, but if I could I would simply say, “I forgive you, Bob.”

Within the last week, all have been described as earnest.

There are several definitions of the word, but the meaning applied in each of these cases was “sincerity with seriousness or purpose.”

I hope seeing these seemingly unrelated examples is a signal that earnestness is becoming more in fashion as a trait we value.

In the not too distant past, being earnest was met with skepticism. People or their creative endeavors described as earnest were often dismissed as naive, self-serious, of idealistic. The jaded people doing the dismissing seemed to be channeling their own cynicism or discontentment.

Case in point: Years ago, in a review for one of my children’s books a critic described it as too earnest. (Yes there are critics of children’s books and apparently at least one thinks it’s possible to be too sincere.)

Often characters in popular culture who are earnest start out as caricatures. We begin by laughing AT Ted Lasso or Leslie Knope (Amy Poehler from Parks and Rec.) Until eventually, we see that their heartfelt attempts at making their worlds better are quite serious - even if their methods seem strange. We ultimately laugh WITH them and cheer for their success. We long to have a little more of what they have in our lives.

Previous generations seemed to have no shortage of characters - real and fictional - that stood out as exemplars of earnestness. From Mr. Rogers to Mary Tyler Moore to practically every character Jimmy Stewart ever played.

It’s worth noting that earnestness in music seems to stand the test of time. From Joni Mitchell to Bruce Springsteen to Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran, we laud their commitment to write with sincerity and purpose.

In other fields, earnestness is more difficult to find. Earnest politicians and CEOs seem to be in short supply.

Oscar Wilde’s play, The Importance of Being Earnest, is social commentary of the value of honesty and sincerity in a society that too often valued superficiality. The two main male characters pretend their name is “Ernest” in order to impress women as it was perceived to be of higher moral integrity.

Now we don’t even seem to pretend to be earnest - forgoing the quality all together. It’s worth noting the usage of the word peaked in the periods between 1880-1930 (around when the play was written) and has been less and less common ever since.

Perhaps seeing these three examples within a week is a sign that we are once again recognizing the importance of being earnest. Or maybe it’s just confirmation bias on my part as I’ve been thinking about the word a lot lately.

Either way, I’m going to resist my cynical tendencies to dismiss, scoff, question or laugh at the earnestness around me and instead seek it out - because I usually find it both inspiring and hopeful - if I only give it a chance.

Recommendation: I recently saw the movie, Silent Friend. While I didn’t think of it at the time, all three characters which span different storylines over a hundred years could be described as earnest. It is a meditative and beautiful film that explores nature, science and our need for connection.

Consider sharing this with someone whose earnestness you appreciate but perhaps have never acknowledged.

All told it is estimated that at least 500 million people have died in all wars and human conflicts throughout human history. Other estimates put the number at closer to 1.5 billion people. Based on the latter number, that means over 1% of the people who have ever lived have died in war.

Global conflicts cost the world economy almost $20 trillion dollars last year alone. This is estimated to be 12% of the global GDP.

It is estimated that the average American family has spent $200 more just in gas since the beginning of the Iran War.

Of course, these costs - measured in lives and money - don’t even capture the environmental costs, social costs, psychological costs, generational costs or opportunity costs of war. The last refers to what we could have been doing with those lives and money instead.

One interesting statistic from the Brown University’s, Costs of War project shows that for every million dollars spent on the military we create five jobs. By comparison, for every million dollars spent in education we create thirteen.

There are many reasons countries (or perhaps more accurately stated - political leaders) go to war. Some are noble: Independence, security, sovereignty, human rights. Others not so much: To acquire land, territory, power, oil, or other valuable resources. One such resource I learned of recently was bird shit. Yes you read that right, the United States and other countries raced and fought over colonizing small islands in the Pacific and Caribbean oceans for the right to claim the guano (bird shit) that had accumulated there. Ironically, guano was highly sought after because it was a key ingredient for the creation of … wait for it….explosives.

Of course, there are safeguards in place meant to protect us from going into unnecessary wars. Chief among them is the requirement of congressional approval.

Sadly, in the 135 armed conflicts we’ve been engaged in - only eleven have received that explicit approval (approximately 8%). In another 50%, Presidents used other general statutory authorizations to go to war. The remaining 42%? The President unilaterally sent our troops into harm’s way without any approval at all.

Last night, I was helping my daughter study for a history final. She was specifically reviewing chapters on the Cold War. As we reviewed the Korean War, we both learned that over the course of the three-year conflict five million people died - more than half of which were civilians. When the ceasefire was agreed to, the border between North and South Korea was set almost exactly where it was when the conflict began.

Her response to this was telling - a dejected “Wow.” When we finished reviewing the entire unit which covered conflict after conflict, she just stated under her breath. “Bro, we have to stop fighting.”

Indeed we do.

Recommendation of the Week: This Memorial Day, I will be watching this PBS documentary on the sinking of the HMT Rohna - one that claimed the life of my grandfather. I recommend watching/reading anything that reminds you of the personal cost of war.

Consider sharing this email with your elected representatives, who have still not authorized our current conflict.

Once released from our childhood whimsies, we grow to see the dandelion as a nuisance. Something that detracts from a well manicured lawn. Almost impossible to eradicate. We liken it to a weed that is without merit or value. We are wrong.

Dandelions are, in fact, great for soil health. They have varied and potent medicinal value. Not only are they edible but they hold more nutritional value than most vegetables we eat. They are, like most things in nature, divine and miraculous.

To overlook the potential of a flower at our feet is unfortunate but understandable. To overlook the potential of a student right in front of us is an altogether different matter.

I am fortunate to teach at two different universities. One is private and one is public. One is very expensive and the other quite affordable. As a result, they attract students who are typically from dramatically different economic classes.

It is not fair to compare college students and the challenges they face. For they are largely out of their control. At the same time, when employers look at lines of a resume, they will often miss the full story of what has led them to this point.

Most of my students at City College are first generation, meaning they don’t have much guidance in navigating the worlds of higher education or white collar job searches. Most work in college, meaning they are more likely to miss out on extracurricular activities like club and unpaid internships that bolster a resume. They have commutes that are often one to two hours. This combined with their jobs and family responsibilities make it more likely they will miss some classes or be late to others. My experience has also shown that grade inflation is a much bigger issue at expensive private colleges than it is as public ones. One theory being that - perhaps subconsciously - no one wants to upset a customer (parent) who is paying $80K+ for an education.

The net is that when two resumes hit a desk, it is easy to overlook one. This would be a mistake.

As they say, talent is evenly distributed even as opportunity and investment are not.

I am blown away by the eagerness to learn, to improve, to grow and to contribute that these students demonstrate. Their depth of thought, humility, compassion, and street smarts make them ideal employees for any company or organization. If only you stop to look a little closer. The added benefit, similar to that of the dandelion, is that when you do, the seeds you plant will spread across the land for generations to come.

Recommendation for the Week: Run - don’t walk - to go see the movie Sheep Detectives. It is funny, moving, and so heartfelt. Within the story line, is another overlooked thing of beauty - winter sheep - that will steal your heart. Trust me you and your family will love it - regardless of your age.

Consider sharing this with anyone you know who has hiring responsibilities.

I’ve written about moms frequently over the years. Topics ranged from the surprising history of Mother’s Day, ideas for belated Mother’s Day gifts, the challenges mom’s faced over COVID, and our unfortunate tendency to take them for granted.

In many of these cases, my starting point was either my own mom or my wife - the mother of our three children.

But consider the number referenced above. There are eight-five million moms in America right now. Collectively, they have brought hundreds of millions of people of all ages into this world. That is a staggering contribution to humankind - if they never did anything else at all. But of course they do.

I have been fortunate to bear witness to the incredible strength and sacrifice of not just my own mom and wife but of so many countless others. Moms who raise kids on their own. Moms who juggle a ridiculous amount of responsibilities. Moms who do without so their children can have more. Moms who help differently abled sons and daughters feel whole. Moms who show up and show up and show up. Moms who love unconditionally - even when circumstances may push that assumption. Moms who just make things work even when the world isn’t cooperating.

In looking back at all the moms I’ve known, I see things now that I missed then. As a child, I remember moms who just needed a break and turned to a long drag off a Pall Mall. I remember others working quietly in the background to keep the “trains” running on time. I remember another coming home at almost midnight after a long day working at a nursing home, barely saying hello to her son and his friends that were over as she put up her feet and turned the television on.

More recently, I see crockpots filled with food in my mother-in-law’s kitchen as her grandkids and other family arrive. Food that was weeks in the making. I see moms at my school’s sporting events knowing that the cheers from the sidelines sometimes mask tears at home. I see mom’s boarding trains and buses heading to New York or DC to march for their rights and their daughters.

And yet, I see only a tiny fraction of those minds, hands and hearts at work and the magic they create. So often without notice, praise, or appreciation.

When I was young, my brother and sister and I all called our mother, Ma. For the longest time, I had assumed that was a Boston thing. Apparently it is not.

Ma is thought to be the original name for the person who brings us into this world. The first expression of motherhood. Linguists suggest that this is a “universal infantile vocalization,” that stems from the noise babies make while breastfeeding or babbling.

We are wise to remember this elemental connection to our moms, who bring us into this world, nourish us, protect us, shape us, educate us, mentor us, accept us, show up for us and of course love us.

We move on from Ma, to Mama, to Momma Mommy, Mom, Mum, Mother and a host of other terms - not always voiced with the respect they deserve.

We ask and ask and ask. The “mama” request for milk evolves into a “Mom did you wash my uniform?” And of course, they give and give and give.

It is a worthwhile exercise to ask ourselves, where would we be without moms?

We would be nowhere because literally without them there is no us.

It is a fact worth remembering. Not just on the second Sunday of May - but everyday before and after.

Thanks Ma for everything.

This Week’s Recommendation: Musicians often put into words tributes to their moms that we only wish we could articulate with such poignancy. Consider finding a song that speaks to how you feel about your mom and send it to her One I shared recently with my own, was “Momma Song” by Benson Boone.

Consider sharing this with a mom in your life - perhaps your own or another who you admire.

“My sister is a libtard out West. I don’t even talk to her anymore. She lives in Oregon and I hope she stays out there.”

The hostility and apparent sense of self-satisfaction with his words was jarring. To so casually flatten a relationship and write off a sibling - someone who he presumably shared so much of his life with at some point was just so sad to me.

Divides come in many different forms; geographic to geological; man-made to natural; personal to the political. But what they all share is a common source. For something to be divided inherently means at one point it had to be united. Coming from the same land mass, country, community, relationship or family. This makes the division both painful and possible unification hopeful.

I’ve been listening to Noah Kahan’s new album a lot lately. It is aptly named, The Great Divide. Throughout the seventeen tracks, Kahan explores divides - presumably inspired by his own life, Someone wrestling with leaving his home town and coming back. Recognizing divides that have occurred for a myriad of reasons - time, distance, life events, class conflicts, politics, and trauma.

In many songs, there is a yearning to bridge these divides. In the last song, “Dan”, he longs to just have a Miller Lite with an old friend who he once had so much more in common with. In my favorite song, “Willing and Able”, he sings of a falling out with a sibling. The chord progression in the chorus builds movingly and achingly towards a desired reunion. The song ends by repeating “I’d be willing and able” eight times before wistfully saying, “If you’re willing, I’m able.”

I have long believed, perhaps naively so, that there is substantially more that unites us than divides us. So much division is born from the self-interests of others who pit people against each other for their own gain or a culture that leans too heavily into zero-sum thinking and resentment. If only we could pause and remind ourselves of our ties that bind - before they were torn asunder. To see each other with more grace and compassion. To judge less and seek understanding more. To forgive doesn’t require that we forget. But it does ask that we remember what brought us together in the first place.

If you’re willing and able, of course.

This Week’s Recommendation: Listen to Kahan’s The Great Divide. Find a song that speaks to a division you’re experiencing. Now consider sending that song as an olive branch to the person on the other side of that divide.

Share this email with a friend - or perhaps even better, an ex-friend

On Monday, we hosted our second annual Social Mobility Lab Summit at City College of New York. It is typical for events like these to bring in a keynote speaker whose expertise on the subject matter is nationally renowned. Marked by years of study and writing on the topic. We take a different approach and instead center student voices whose expertise in social mobility is drawn from their own remarkable lived experience. The words they share stem not from a New York Times best-seller but an essay they write in my class.

Please take a few minutes to watch this student share his story. I have little doubt you will be moved, inspired and impressed by the courage and wisdom this young man shares.

A few days after this event, I found myself in the audience watching a larger group of students perform a high school production of Grease. My oldest daughter played Sandy, one of the leads, and this would be her last high school theatrical performance. The show was fun, infectious and moving. Seeing your child put herself out there - at two different times performing solos in the most extreme sense as she was alone on the large stage singing songs that required great vulnerability - was such an amazing gift. At the same time it was incredibly bittersweet, realizing that this may be the last time I see her perform on a stage - an experience that has brought me such joy and pride over the years.

While the venues and the content of these two events were markedly different they shared a few common themes.

In both cases, the students - when finished - were lavished with praise while at the same time balancing the euphoria of a warm reception with the exhaustion that comes in the aftermath of putting yourself out there in such vulnerable ways.

Each situation also reflected the power of a transformative educational experience. In the first situation, a student was asked to share his story of “how he ended up here” - deeply internalizing classroom discussions about social mobility and what that has meant for his own life. In the latter, the cast and crew had six weeks to come together to stage a production, memorize lines, songs, dance moves, coordinate costume and set changes, arrange lighting and sound and a thousand other things necessary to stage a play. All this learning and hard work was done with such love and care.

Both situations are a testament to how important learning driven by intrinsic motivation is. Learning that is self-directed and personally meaningful. The process itself is the reward as it is marked by joy or self-discovery.

It is these types of experiences that students carry with them throughout their lives, far more than any grade or transcript.

It is perhaps most telling that after the last show of Grease as the cast and crew stood on stage, many if not most were in tears. Their tears were born from the realization that they were leaving something behind that they loved so much.

How wonderful it must have been to love something in school so much that you are moved to tears when it is over?

As an adult with my own schoolyard days in the distant past, last week filled me not with nostalgia but with hope. It is just absolutely beautiful and awe-inspiring to see what young people are capable of when motivated by their own desire to learn, putting themselves out there, and in doing so contributing to the joy and education of others.

This Week’s Recommendation. In the spirit of awe, please check out the latest episode of the podcast, The Science of Happiness. I was a guest on the show discussing an Awe Walk Through History and Possibility - a project we designed to take students on a tour through Harlem connecting historical stories of social mobility to their own lives.

Please share this with a student - of any age - in the hopes of sparking a conversation about the kind of learning they love.

This well-intentioned remark designed to encourage someone to try something that may seem daunting can actually have unintended consequences.

If someone struggles with a task we label as easy, it can actually be demotivating, demoralizing and damaging to one’s confidence. Making us question ourselves; “If it’s so easy and I can’t do it - what does that make me?”

I heard this fact at our Social Mobility Lab Summit this week, as the President of City College of New York, Vince Boudreau, used it as an example of “things we can do” to apply research in service of improving a person’s odds of success in life.

Rather than calling something easy (because it may be for us now), it would be more helpful if we instead shared more about our own learning journey. Perhaps saying, “I struggled with it at first but was able to figure it out.” Or reminding ourselves and others that our ease with something was the result of someone first helping us out and the fact that we have now been doing it for a while.

Learning almost anything in life requires effort, focus, repetition, patience, perspective, and encouragement. It also often includes failure and struggle. When we reduce our own learning story to, “I learned how to do that, it was easy,” we do a disservice to ourselves and others.

After all, no one nailed tying their shoes the first time around, let alone algebra.

This Week’s Recommendation: If you need another reminder about what you were like when you were young and learning, listen to Miley Cyrus’s song, Younger You. It is a simple song with a powerful message.

Consider sharing this with a friend who might be struggling with learning something.