Malaise Monday Motivation

Today felt like a malaise Monday. It rained in the South Bay, unusually cold and dreary for May, and there was a post Mother’s Day hangover in the air. But there were quiet moments I enjoyed: sitting on the floor with my daughter, having one of our “conversations,” watching the green leaves on the tree rustling in the wind outside. The sun eventually poked its way through the gloom. I got a good workout in, despite being tired from yesterday.

It’s not the first time I’ve told myself, “these are the good old days. These are the days I’ll look back on fondly, and wish I can return to when I’m old and worn down.” It can be difficult sometimes, but I try to appreciate and be grateful for the simple things on ordinary days. Appreciate getting a good lift in—one day I won’t be strong. Enjoy sitting on the floor talking with my daughter—one day she will be grown, and I’ll remember how cute and innocent she was as a baby. 

All of this is living. Sure I strive for adventure, seek it out regularly. We travel and learn about the world and its inhabitants. I’d like to build as much of that into my life as I can, because my heart yearns for it. But I also try to recognize the real living, the true living that occurs on a daily basis. Struggling for that last set in a workout. Feeling good about trying your best in all you did that day. And being present with your family. 

We can all do these things, and we all do… it’s our shared experience as humans. Plebeians of Ancient Rome worked through malaise Monday’s. Royals in 1600’s Europe dealt with them. It is the human condition. And I’m pretty certain, at the end of my life, whenever that may come, I’ll look back on a malaise Monday and wish I could return to it, for just five minutes, one more time. For living is the greatest gift, not to be squandered. 

To Mothers

I woke up early this morning to care for our daughter. A blowout and change of clothes later, she was back in bed with Mommy, and I went out to the living room to write.

For the first time, there are two letters to write this year. And it got me thinking, that Mother’s Day might perhaps be the most important holiday we celebrate. Every single human being who has ever walked this Earth has had a mother. Every person born was born to a mother, no matter their culture or gender or timeline. It is something all of humanity shares. And having recently witnessed the birth of my first child not too long ago, I can confidently say it’s nothing short of miraculous.

Women possess an ability that we should regularly rejoice. Without them, none of this would be possible. They are the foundation of our species, passing strength to each other through the generations. The two most important people in my life are mothers, and I’m eternally grateful for their sacrifice, their spirit, and their love.

To celebrating Mother’s Day, a most important holiday.

Summer in the Air

Do you feel the zest for life as it gets warmer in the Northern Hemisphere? The flowers are blooming, the bees are buzzing, and the activity is picking up. I relish my time out on my balcony each morning. There’s still a hint of coolness in the air, but there’s so much more light shining on the foliage, and the birds are in full song.

Playoff basketball is on, politics is fading from center stage, and the end of the school year is near. Families are gearing up for summer, for family trips and barbecues and pool days, for long hikes and dinners outside and the wild freeness of hot summer nights. As I’ve gotten older, it’s the anticipation before the season that I enjoy the most: late spring, before the summer begins, and mid-autumn. I guess sometimes it’s easier to look forward than to appreciate the gravity of it all in the moment, or just after.

But there’s more than hedonism in the air. We can embrace the throes of society as well as the ones of summer. There is much to be grateful for, and far more to improve. I wonder how we can organize our own Summer of Love, perhaps digitally. We all clamor for love and meaning, and we all share dissatisfaction with the way things are going. It is time for us to coalesce into a global consciousness, one that unites all of humanity and triumphs love. How will we use this summer?

Transient Peace for a Human Being

Consistency and discipline is the name of the game. Or put differently, there are very few rich people who didn’t work hard. And there aren’t any successful ones. To be satisfied you have to put in the work, make it through the struggle. I once heard Brendon Burchard say at a conference, “you have to embrace the struggle.” It’s also known as ‘embrace the suck’ by former military personnel. Right now I’m reading “Flow” by Mihály Csíkszentmihályi and the message seems similar. When we devote our whole selves to something difficult, we dissociate our ego, at least transiently. We are the universe contributing. We are the universe organizing itself. 

We all die. Our purpose may simply be to serve as a vessel for our genes, to pass them on to the next generation before our fragile bodies become dust. But in that moment of spark, in our lifetime of light, we can move. We can dance with the other molecules in this particle soup, and influence and change them, and disappear amongst all the other atoms and cells.

I feel at peace when I’m writing, or observing my surroundings and taking photos in silence, or when deeply absorbed in an interesting conversation with an interesting person. It’s not a euphoric feeling, but a calming, a quieting of all the noise, a simple experience of being.

And it’s so hard to get there most days. My brain tricks itself into reading the news or checking email or tidying up the living room. After all, I should be a good husband and father, and do those dishes and fold that laundry—right? Anything to maintain the monkey maze mind. That’s where the struggle and suck come in. We have to tolerate it in order to start. We have to resist the more, the distraction, the pleasure. Because the experiencing peace vastly outweighs any guilty pleasures.

We all fight this battle, whether we are Jeff Bezos or the poorest child in Pakistan. Despite the rife inequality in the world, there are some things all humans share. The same basic wants and needs. The same existential fear and dread of death and the beyond. The same wonder about our place in the universe. The same questions about meaning. And the silent battle of accepting less in the moment in order to achieve that ever elusive peace.

We all share these afflictions and desires. We all share the same purpose. How incredible, and how beautiful that can be.

Nature Walks

When I was a high school freshman, I went on a hike with a friend and his dad. He told me to bring headphones (back in the day when you'd lug around an actual CD player if you can believe it). I found it incredibly weird, the three of us walking in the woods silently, each listening to music instead of fully immersing ourselves in nature. I didn't hike with them anymore after that.

And yet today, I'm constantly plugged in to either podcasts or music.

I went for a walk yesterday without headphones for the first time in a long time. It was liberating. I listened to the birds chirping and noticed the different types of trees I passed by. My thoughts were recursive at first, my brain grasping at ways to stay busy. But eventually I was able to simply enjoy the walk for what it was: a stroll through nature.

How often do any of us do that anymore? This basic act was a staple in humanity's daily routine for hundreds of thousands of years, and yet today many of us never walk with nature. I live in the concrete jungle, like an increasing number of humans today. What if a big part of the solution to our problems was just to get out in nature more? No notifications, no human-made sound, just you (and maybe a companion) and the trail.

We didn't grow up in such crowded, concrete conditions as a species. Maybe the cure for our rising animosity is to ditch the CD player and just take the walk. We can still learn from Mother Earth.

Simple Family Life

I told my wife last night how simple life is. Find the love of your life, spend as much of your time on this Earth as you can with them. Have children with that person, and fully embrace the expansion of love you’ll feel for your family. Love them every day, and be happy.

It really does feel that simple as a new Dad. I know I write about purpose and calling and how to contribute to the universe often, but the most powerful way a lot of us can contribute is by raising open, kind, loving families. And simple isn’t easy. But when I’m holding my daughter at night before bed, when I sit and appreciate the undistracted moments with just us as a family, simple can be as easy as letting go.

Maybe if we all let go of what we’re holding more often, and we instead stay present with our families, we can indirectly contribute to a better world. Our children’s futures depend on it.

Earth Day 2025

I was Snow White out on my balcony this morning, making friends with the birds and squirrels. It’s incredibly peaceful to stand out there in the quiet early morning, hearing nothing but the sounds of nature. It’s almost as if I was in Yosemite. I think it’s something I want to make a regular habit this summer.

I love my daughter so much, and I treasure her and want the best for her in life. I’ve written previously how we all want that for our children. And then I thought, in a way, the Earth is sort of like our child. The Earth is how we live for our biological children. It is our Mother Earth, what enabled us to enter the universe, and what allows us to have children to live their own lives when we’re gone. It is where we all live out our entire lives. It is what we bequeath to future generations. How will we care for it? What will we leave them?

I hope to establish Earth Day as a legitimate holiday with my daughter. As a day to celebrate, for we are here together on this wondrous planet, having life because of it. Our Earth is the most fantastical thing we know of in this universe. We should celebrate it, and take care of it.

Bassinet Smiles

I reached into my daughter's bassinet this morning and a beautiful smiling baby looked up at me. It melted my heart like it always does. After a few rough days post Rotavirus vaccine, it was reassuring to feel like I was getting my daughter back.

Parents want nothing more than their children to be happy and healthy. I figured as much, but it becomes so obvious when you become a father. I would do anything for my daughter’s health and wellbeing, make any sacrifice for her happiness.

What if that was our starting point on this planet? There are billions of parents around the world, and we all want the same things for our children. Does it have to be a zero-sum game? Can we prioritize the health, safety and wellbeing of our billions of children over everything else, and does that change the equation?

It seems everyone could subscribe to such a simple belief. That it could make our time together in this life a whole lot easier. We all want the same things. Can we unite around them?

Tom Petty kind of morning

I put in my headphones and put on Tom Petty this morning. My dad has been listening to his entire discography, album by album on his morning walks. I decided to plug into Full Moon Fever, and it was so uplifting. I’m so quick to put on a podcast these days, it feels good to keep my own thoughts and move to the music. 

We’re all so addicted to information and consumption. I feel a peace settle over me on the days I prolong any consumption (For some reason, music is different). But no news, no podcasts, no text or email… the days I get through the morning without these things I feel better. I recently deleted a lot of apps on my phone, including email. I’ve found if people really want to reach me, they’ll figure it out. I only need to check my email a few times a week most of the time.

Taking my time making my cappuccino with the music in my ears was reassuring. I’ve always listened to Tom Petty; Full Moon Fever has my first favorite song—my parents have a picture of me dancing to Free Fallin’ on our backyard deck, next to the green outdoor speaker.

I sipped my double shot cappuccino from my “Half Dome is calling, and I must go” cup, satisfied with life. If we slow down and stay quiet, peace will settle. I am so incredibly fortunate, and in the peace of the morning, with music and good coffee, without all the noise, it’s easy to see. All is as it’s supposed to be, and we are one with the universe.

Uncertain Times

Uncertainty is difficult for us. In the modern world, we're habituated to cleanliness, order, convenience. For the first time in human history, we know what to expect at home, at work, and out in the world. Hunter-gatherers constantly faced the unknown. Uncertainty was a daily stressor. We are simply unaccustomed to the kind of uncertainty sparked by all the recent tariff announcements (and recantations).

I have always struggled to see Trump as anything more than someone who stumbled into enrapturing the Republican base. His brashness has attracted a cult following, swaying American politics unlike anyone since FDR. 

But the circus walk-around may be ending. The uncertainty caused by these tariffs appears unwelcome. If ever actually enforced, they would result in significant consequences to the average American. So what to do?

No one has figured it out yet. Uncertainty prevails.

The way to defeat a clown is not through scorn or anger, but indifference. Unfortunately that’s more difficult when it’s the White House. Maybe the wisest/only thing we can do is lean into the roots of our humanity and become more comfortable with regular uncertainty. And rebuild.

Leveling Up

Level 1 = money is the ultimate asset

After all, It’s tradeable for almost anything else. You can trade it for comfort, convenience, luxury… think private jets and private box seats at exclusive events, the best clothes and toys and hotels, and, if you have enough, even your own private island. Most of all, it can buy freedom. Freedom from working, freedom from spending your time any way you don’t want to.

It can even “buy” time, in a limited way. You can pay someone to do your laundry so you don’t have to waste your time doing it. It frees your time from unwanted obligations. But there’s a limit. Money can’t actually create more time.

Would you trade lives, right now, with Warren Buffett? He’s 94 years old. Probably not right? Because you’re unwilling to trade your (relatively abundant) time for whatever experience and luxury his money can afford. We can’t make more time, so it’s not worth it, perhaps it even scares us, to think of trading 30, 60, however many years of our life for frailty, for the knowledge deep down we could go at any moment. Even if we had near unlimited money to do whatever we wanted—if the possibilities are so significantly constricted by time, we’re not interested.

So, Level 2 = Time is the ultimate asset.

Time is a finite resource that is not fungible. We all get 5,200 weeks or so, if we’re very lucky. Prioritizing how we spend our time makes much more sense than exclusively pursuing money. Because where’s the break even point of the two curves? Is it worth it to spend 50 years of your life to achieve “fuck you money?” No? 30 years of your life? There’s also the health factor: if you traded 30 years of your life to become a billionaire, and (to be generous) started when you were 18, then you’d be 48 when you have enough money to do whatever you wanted. That doesn’t sound too bad right? But that means you give up travel in your 20’s, 30’s, and most of your 40’s. It means you didn’t get to spend your time with your partner or children. Is a billion dollars worth missing your children growing up? I think most people would not make these trades.

Level 3 = Attention is the ultimate asset

We are what we pay attention to. We can't actually experience everything in life even within our allotted time. When walking down the street, our brain automatically filters out sensations so we can focus on the most important thing in that moment—crossing the street, or listening to that song, or thinking through what that person said to us yesterday. 

Within the full scope of our time on Earth, there's a subset that we can actually experience, focus on, and make meaningful. Thus attention becomes our most important asset. We possess the ability to determine our experience with the time we have. Through personal agency, we can literally craft the life we want. What should you focus on? How much time do you spend being angry? Bored? Working? What will you wish you spent your attention and time on at the end of your 5,200 weeks? Only you can answer that. And you vote with your attention.

Living Together

Gosh there’s a lot of uncertainty out in the world. I get the New York Times “The Morning” Newsletter delivered to my work inbox every morning, and today I focused on how I felt while reading it. Even being largely apathetic, I could still feel a rise in tension, a slight constriction in my chest as I skimmed through the news. Catherine Price urges a focus on what’s controllable. I certainly can’t control the rhetoric, the half-baked policy announcements, or politicians’ behaviors. (It’s almost as if I shouldn’t subscribe to that newsletter.)

I can control my consumption, as hard as it may seem. And the thing is, people will tell you anything that’s truly newsworthy. The news purports to bring critical, impactful information. But I only experience consequences in my mental wellbeing. Instead of reacting to bumbling political leadership, I choose to contribute on my own terms, by providing my own vision for our one world. Let me expound.

We live on a beautiful planet full of wonder. We share this planet. We also share the consequences of our actions together. There is no second home for us to go to.

We all want the same things, health, love and time. Our similarities far outweigh our differences. On the grand scale of time and space of the universe, this is an absolute miracle. It’s a miracle we are here together, sharing this existence, at this exact point in time, on this one small planet in the vast cosmos. Recognizing we occupy this singular point of time and space together, we can choose: how will we live? We each hold the power of agency, immutable by anyone or anything else in the universe. How will we choose to shape the fabric of spacetime? How will we live?

It’s kind of like living with dogs. You hopefully enjoy 12 years with your dog. You try to give them a good life, and you make the most of your time together. But you also know they don’t live as long (as us), and you only have so long with them. You don’t focus on that, you just enjoy the time. But you understand it. It’s the same for all of us here on this planet, the timescale is just different. We’re only here together for 70 or 80 years, give or take. We have some overlap with the previous and next generations, but basically we all have a century or so together to live and love and laugh and dance.

How will we live?

Dumpster Huh

When I arrive at the dumpster near my building, I now say “huh” aloud. This word is my new experiment for practicing non-reaction. Whenever I get frustrated or stressed or angry, I force myself to pause and say ‘huh,’ which is just an interjection: a reaction word. It buys me a few more seconds of processing time, enabling me (sometimes) to stay calm.

So now when I get to the dumpster and inevitably find recycling in the trash or boxes haphazardly strewn across the enclosure, I get to decide how I want to react. Uttering a nonchalant “huh” grants me the opportunity to choose. Do I want to get angry and allow my neighbors’ carelessness to negatively affect my mood for the next 30 minutes? Or do I want to let it go?

The same can be used when navigating traffic, deescalating with my partner, or processing directives at work. Our reactions are solely ours. We always get to choose. “Huh” reminds me treasure this most important fact of life.

The Why of Writing

I was walking back to my desk when it hit me: writing is integral to my wellbeing. Looking back at each day’s end, I am always happier, always more fulfilled, on the days I write something. When I know deep down that I exerted earnest effort to writing something, I feel satisfied and proud. It's a worthwhile day, even if it isn’t necessarily my best day. When I write, even if I don’t publish, I have accomplished something. Writing is for the writer, not the reader. 

If I don't write, I feel languished and emaciated. I feel like I’ve stolen from the world, only consuming what is provided to me without contributing. It’s a terrible feeling to not create something, to not produce something. It feels like I haven’t released what’s inside of me.

Writing is thinking. It trains your mind how to organize its thoughts coherently, logically, and persuasively.

Writing is creation. It’s an outlet for your mind and soul to discover meaning. Even the most average writing is an act of creation—our natural, highest purpose.

Because writing is one of the most important things I do each day, I should "eat the frog first thing in the morning," as writing is often a frog, and often the biggest frog of all (credit to Mr. Twain). For writing can be agony, if you don’t begin decisively. You can sit in front of your computer and bemoan your lack of ideas, your boringness, your pent-up energy. It can be excruciating to get the words out, to fall into that rhythm all writers covet. But finding flow is the training for the thinking and ordering of thoughts, coherently and logically. It is the persuasion configuring. It's not easy to think sometimes. It's not fun to organize the jumbled notions and emotions in your head. Turning them about and fitting them together and producing them on the page is the necessary starting point that forces us to grow.

And all of a sudden, that tension disappears without your noticing. It’s bliss. You're speeding along, line after line, producing free flowing thoughts straight from your soul, and they magically and magnificently appear on the page. The page becomes your world. You have no other vision, and all other senses cease to function. You hear no distraction, you don't feel the keys click beneath your fingers. You are in the writing world, for as long as the muse decides to channel your mind and body in the act of creation. After it has ravaged your being, you still somehow feel satisfied.

For writing is therapeutic. It cleans the mind and cleanses the soul. This is why journaling is such a powerful exercise recommended by so many people, writers or not. When we purge our emotions onto paper, they no longer occupy and cloud our brains. A long session may leave you tired, but all negativity is expelled, leaving only content.

So I write every day. To (hopefully) contribute to the universe and a better world, yes. But also selfishly. For me. For my sanity. For my soul.

Upon reaching my desk, I felt relief. I began to write.

Today I’ve done my writing. It is a good day.

Baby Playlist

My lunch hour today encapsulated the pure joy of parenthood: I sat rocking our baby, singing to her as she looked up at me. And the songs played:

“I love you more with every breath truly, madly, deeply do…

A new beginning

A reason for living

A deeper meaning, yeah…

I wanna lay like this forever

Until the sky falls down on me”

It’s true you just don’t get it until you have a child, how you can love them so much. It truly is a new beginning. I often feel I can stay in that chair forever with my daughter laying on my chest, rocking her to sleep.

“An angel when she smiled…

Baby blue was the color of her eyes

Baby lea like the Colorado skies…

She brought colors to my life

That my eyes have never touched

When she taught me how to care

I’ve never cared so much”

We were surprised and pleased to see our daughter’s blue eyes. Growing up, my Granny always told me how special it was to her that I had her eyes. I now understand.

“Don’t know how I got you

But I couldn’t ask for more

Girl, what we got’s worth thanking God for

So, thank God

I get to wake up by your side

And thank God

Your hand fits perfectly in mine…

Thank God for giving me you”

My heart melts every time she grabs onto my finger. We are just so utterly grateful to have our baby girl.

“That kind that only comes once in your life…

Boom-boom-boom, boom-boom), you make me

(Ba-da-da-da, ba, ba, ba-da-da-da, ba, ba) you

make me, make me happy”

Just your child existing makes you happy, and you can sit in peace appreciating that over and over.

“May the good Lord be with you down every

road you roam

And may sunshine and happiness surround 

you when you’re far from home

And may you grow to be proud, dignified 

and true

And do unto others as you’d have done to

you

Be courageous and be brave 

And in my heart you’ll always stay

Forever young…

And when you finally fly away, I’ll be hoping

that I served you well

For all the wisdom of a lifetime, no one can

ever tell

But whatever road you choose, I’m right

behind you win or lose

Forever young”

You wish and hope for all the best for your child, knowing one day it will be on them to make their way in the world. I suspect she will always be my baby girl to me.

What’s the point of all this? I guess it’s knowing that so many other millions of people around the world feel something similar.

This experience of parenthood is universal: the love you feel for your children, the fact all cultures have children, that we all want the next generation to do well. It’s a series of miracles happening all around the planet.

We have so much to be grateful for as a species, and we have this one opportunity to emit light, to make beautiful music, to live. We’re all sharing the same playlist.

Space and Purpose

I recently read this ESPN piece about Suni Williams, one of the astronauts still aboard the ISS and it made me think and feel. I guess I can add another 'easy' thing to be grateful for: "I'm not stuck in a metal tube the size of a football field for 8 months." That one should be as retrievable as "I'm not paralyzed--I can walk" and "I get to work from home today." This astronaut's experience is undoubtedly unfathomable to me, an ordinary person who has never experienced space—just as unfathomable as life's transformation upon having children, or going to war. There are one-way experiential doors in this life, and it's impossible to fully understand what's on the other side of those doors without crossing through. Visiting space, and more-so being stuck there unexpectedly, is one of those doorways.

Time, mortality, meaning and purpose

I wrote a bucket list of sorts back in January upon Chris Guillebeau's urging. "Go to space" was one of the long-shot things I wrote down. It's supposed to transcend our imagination—the weightlessness, the visuals of the Earth from above, the recognition of home. I wrote a short story about this back in August. The thought of being in space has always captivated me. In fact, the very first real story I ever wrote back was about space, back when I was in 2nd grade. It was full of space battles with aliens in the far-off future, featuring all kinds of cool vehicles like "Cyber Motorcycles." (I remember being so proud that I had "written 14 pages.") For almost 37 years I've thought about space. The ESPN piece only deepened my wonder.

How ironic would it be if experiencing the wonder of space is what enables us to see the wonder of our world. Astronauts have famously described the overview effect, yet less than 700 people have had the chance to experience it. Physically removing ourselves from the oneness of Earth seemingly strengthens our understanding of its necessity, our connection to our home. When you see pictures of the Earth from space, you automatically see the big picture, understanding, even if just for a moment, how minuscule we are within just our solar system.

In the ESPN article Oliver Burkeman comments:

"Culturally, we tend to have this definition of doing something meaningful that implies affecting a large number of people, or being remembered for years and years and years. And that's a really quite cruel ... definition of meaning to put on ourselves, because it almost means that, by definition, most of us can't have meaningful lives, right? Cause most of us can't be the most famous person in a generation, and most of us can't make the most important invention of the generation, or whatever. And so I think ... maybe what we're really looking for is just a feeling of being alive rather than a meaning ... That's the thing that we can navigate by, instead of this kind of very grandiose idea of, 'Is civilization going to be grateful to me a millennium from now?'"

How can we find meaning when we recognize how apparently insignificant we are?

It's a hard question to answer, but I have some thoughts. I think we're simply here to live. Life happened on our planet, and it evolved to the point we're at now—monkeys primitively exploring beyond our planet's atmosphere. That's us. Perhaps there's no rhyme or reason for our existence beyond the fact that we just are. We're alive, and so our purpose is to live, wholly and wildly and freely. I also have some intuitive inkling that I've started to fulfill one of my purposes: I have created offspring. My wife and I have created a child, and she will go on, god willing, to live a long full life. It's not really about me, it's about passing on the flame of consciousness, the chance to experience, to simply "the next." I love my daughter so completely, something about this resonates deeply with me, and it feels right in my bones. In some ways, my purpose was just to create and raise her.

We get so caught up in our day to day lives, the results of last quarter and the traffic and the outrageous things our politicians say, that we forget this big picture. It's easily obscured, because it's not loud and flamboyant. It's the quiet truth that so easily gets crowded out by the noisy world society has created. But our meaning and purpose is inescapable. It can never be lost or destroyed. We exist, and if we revert back to the big picture, there remains our purpose. Space helps us see it clearly.

Human Duality

We’re smart. We’ve developed complex economies and built incredible infrastructure across the globe. We’re potentially on the verge of creating Artificial General Intelligence. In many parts of the world we live in relatively safe societies of abundance.

But we’re still apes. We still have hair on our skin and limbic systems and biological responses to our environment. We’re still animals. As proud of ourselves as we may be, we get angry and territorial and tribal. We’re flawed. We’re bipedal beasts.

I often think this when I read any sort of psychological or sociological research. That we’re just monkeys studying ourselves, and from a certain cosmological vantage point, it’s comical. We try to reason ourselves into or out of things, but in the end, we’re tied to our primal biology.

But this is part of what makes us so unique, this ability to live within two worlds, the primal and the logical. It’s what drives us to explore and accomplish and create. We help each other. We make art. And we contemplate our place in the universe. We started surviving the savannah and now perceive black holes and distant galaxies. 

It is on this grandest of stages we must consider our predicament. We are the tension between animalistic and logical. We are conscious creatures making sense of ourselves and our place among the stars. We are imperfect, but nonetheless a miracle. What’s next?

Fatherhood Is

My godmother asked me yesterday what it’s like to be a Dad.

I can say, with complete confidence, fatherhood is all about prioritizing coffee in the morning. Double shot cappuccinos FTW.

Of course, it’s so much more than that. It’s a difficult question to answer.

I’ve changed my statement of purpose in my Morning Saying: to showcase the wonder of our one world. This change is partly due to my refined vision for TAV, how I can take a unified approach in my writing, photography, and podcast. But it also reflects a change in my perception now that I’m a father. My purpose is to showcase the wonder of our one world to my daughter. To love her, and to teach her that we share an incredible world full of miracles, and that we must share it with everyone else, all the other people and living things on this planet. That will be my most important lesson as a father, because it is the most important lesson for all of us.

Your transitions into and out of sleep change. My baby is the first thing I think about when I open my eyes each morning, and the last thing I consider before closing them each night. A whole new perspective is open to me. I see the world through my father lens, pursuing everything so as to make my child’s life better.

There’s a recognition and appreciation for the journey. As a first time father, there are so many things I don’t know. I’m learning fatherhood in much the same way my daughter is learning about the world. This reciprocity is comforting because it’s an assurance we’re on the same journey together. There’s fear and worry in the journey, but also hope, and adventure and excitement, and the purest joy I have ever known. I know this will continue to be a journey for the rest of my life, and I am grateful for it. Maybe I will have to get that lion tattoo after all, about the journey of life.

There’s a confirmation in your choosing your partner. I’ve always been confident in my marriage and the person I’ve chosen, but raising a child together has validated our choice and our path. You’re not only life partners, but partners in raising your offspring, this miracle you’ve created together. It’s miraculous. 

Most of all, fatherhood is about love. I feel so much love every day. I feel love when I’m on a run or off running errands. I feel love when rewashing the same bottle for the umpteenth time late at night. I feel love when changing diapers at 3am. Love has become my raison d’etre. Love is the driving force of being a dad, and the most abundant element of my life. 

Fatherhood is amazing, and it’s surreal to know millions of other men around the planet are experiencing the same thing. It gives me hope for humanity. Just make sure you have the coffee ready. 

The Filter of War

I have never been to war, and I hope I never go. But different doesn’t have to be disconnected.

I often write we are more similar than we are different. That we all want the same things, and that we all share this one world together. I know and believe these things to be true, but that doesn’t mean we will always see eye to eye. Sometimes we will have asymmetrical perspectives. But we still need to be able to exchange information and work together.

When I hear former military members speak about their experiences, it’s clear I will never fully understand their perspective. I have not repeatedly witnessed atrocities in a foreign place, I have not operated within a might-is-right environment, and I have not suffered warfare trauma. I have never been to war. I am grateful for this, and although I struggle with America’s history of foreign policy, I am grateful for all who have served our country, to protect and spare me and millions of others.

It’s also clear war changes you, acting as a great filter which you can only pass through once, in one direction. While I may never truly understand the perspective of someone who has served, a former operator also cannot return to my lay perspective. They’ve seen too much; they are forever changed by the warfare they experienced. Former military members often speak about their perspectives being forever changed, that they can’t see the world in any other way because of what they have seen.

So are we at an impasse? I will never truly grasp a war survivor’s perspective, and they can never return to my privileged, nonviolent perspective. Are we doomed to perpetual disagreement? 

I don’t believe so. We don’t have to be alike to coexist. Our diversity strengthens our species. Difference in perspective should not mean we can’t be friends or formulate public policy together. We can debate the best direction for our country, and we can live harmoniously. We just need to understand the distance between our experiences and thus our perspectives. We need to seek first to understand, then to be understood. Diversity of thought increases our decision making ability as a species. And, if we let it, maybe we’ll inhabit a world free from war.

Hope and Gratitude for Our Future

There have been many fascinating things to observe while becoming a parent. Drivers are patient and courteous to us when we’re walking with the stroller. There are 2 ways to look at that—“why aren’t people always this aware and respectful towards pedestrians?!” Or, (the path I choose to take) gratitude and hope for the world. If cars stop to let a baby cross the street, maybe there is hope for the world. Despite all the anger and uncertainty and suffering out in the world, perfect strangers see us with a baby and recognize that’s important. Babies are completely helpless, and people somehow inherently understand they are the future. 

We also see who truly cares for us, who see us as part of their inner tribe. It’s important to us that our daughter’s life isn’t chronicled on the internet, so we haven’t broadcast her arrival. Yet the people in our life have inquired about us and how we’re doing, have offered help and support, have wanted to come meet our daughter. We are eternally grateful to have such a support system. There are people in our lives who deeply care for us, and now our daughter by automatic extension. It’s as my Mom says, “You learn in life that you always have more love to give.  I choose to add people I love to the people that they love.”

Hope and Gratitude. These are the primary feelings dominating my life this month. Strangers providing evidence there’s hope for the future of this world, and gratitude for our tribe’s support. We only need to see and understand, as a species, that there are millions of tribes around the world offering the same support. That there are millions of strangers allowing those with little ones to cross the street. Can you see it, in your mind’s eye? Stopped cars in Dhaka, Durban and Düsseldorf? Extended tribes rallying together to weather hardship and celebrate successes, tribes raising children together?

If we develop this global consciousness, there is no limit to our potential. We can unite humanity, inspire change, and we can, through the goodness in our collective hearts, change the world. For our children.