According to Radoslav Chakarov, writer for Web Tribunal, as of 2022 there are 600 million blogs, with 6 million posts going live everyday.
There is nothing I can add to that monsoon of writing.
And let’s not forget, I could ask AI to write for me. It would be quicker and produce content at a more constant rate (which I’m not good at).I did write this post by the way.
But what I mean, honestly, is there is no reason for me to write anything. No logical reason. I don’t make any money, Radoslav Chakarov shares that less than 10% of blogs make any money.
So why am I even doing this?
For the few people still reading, why?
Yeah, I will go Dead Poets Society on you:
I write because that is who I am. I am a poet, storyteller, blogger… I am a dad, a husband, a person who can get lost in the stars. My spirit is at ease when I write, even if I have nothing to say.
You have heard songs about it, read other articles or blog posts about it, heck, you might have an inspirational poster about it. About not taking today for granted.
But sometimes life gives each of us dots to reinforce ideas. And life has been giving me a ton of dots to connect lately, even as I sit down to write this post, the first song to play on my “Writing” playlist was “Numbered Days” by Eels, not kidding. (The song will be at the end of this post for you to enjoy.)
Earlier this week my mom had a sudden medical emergency. She is doing well, back home. We are still waiting to understand the reason for the situation, but things are good now. but a moment like that sets your mind racing with so many “what if” questions. Some are based in the moment, while other questions center on the future. Every minute becomes a question mark.
Honestly, tomorrow is a question mark. Really, the next minute of my life is a question mark. Life can change in a second. Life can turn 90 degrees with a decision and be off in a new direction.
We all know this, we all have experienced these moments that for a while challenge us to be more grateful for our family and friends. To make that decision to go after a dream we put away for tomorrow. I do it, too. Then life falls into a routine.
This morning we had blueberry muffins for breakfast. There was scrambled eggs and sausage. We talked about the college basketball upsets. If you are a regular reader you know this is what we do on most Sundays. This is a routine, and I share this because there are great moments in the routine of our lives. These types of moments give us joy and love, even if my girls hate my energy in the morning; they know I love them when I call them “Sunshine Bears” when I see them in morning.
But there is a depth to our lives we let go of when we live as a routine. When we waste time just going through the motions, or sit and just watch other people live life on social media. Yes, today is a gift. I was getting into the car after track practice on Friday. The sky was a mess, a small rain storm was approaching from the north, but the south sky was blue and filled with little white fluffy clouds that were shifting their shapes with the wind. I was hit with a deep thought…
I have never seen the same cloud shape ever in my life, and I never will. Think about that for a moment.
Yes, I will see the same kind of skies, but each cloud is a unique aspect of the moment. The wind changes the edges of the clouds, like it does for us if we pay attention to how life is giving us this moment to breathe, to love, to feel the edges of ourselves, stark and sharp, against time.
Life may be hard right now for you. You may be experiencing the greatest moment ever right now. I don’t know because we all have our own time in this life. It is a gift, to be opened and to be lived. Tomorrow is a question mark, but right now should be an exclamation mark!
A few days ago we were talking about karma, about why it seemed that people who do bad things always seem to win. To be popular. Last night you opened up about the friendship situation. I connected the dots.
Junior high is a minefield. It is hard to judge what the next step will bring. Add the state of our society, social media, and the challenge of just being a teenager, and it feels like the world is in chaos.
There is nothing I can do or say that will change the outside world. I hope that maybe this open letter can help you navigate the next couple of years and help you discover the beautiful soul that you are.
First, friendship is one of the foundations of who we are. But it is also fickle and can actually be destructive. Our friendships make or break us. Even after all these years, and our own rough spots, my best friend is an important part of my life. But many of the other friends I’ve had over the years are not a part of my everyday life. Right now, it feels like you should have a huge group of friends. I understand the need to feel “liked” by everyone. To be honest, even adults have that desire, but real friendship is a serious relationship. And it is hard sifting through the fake and real relationships in junior high, let alone the rest of your life.
Real friendship is earned. If you find yourself asking for friendship, that person is not a friend. Let them go. Know that honest friendship builds you up, supports you. You should never have to ask to be loved. This is a hard truth, but it’s true.
Second, guard your heart, but never close it. This is hard to write as a father because I want this world to be a beautiful place for you. But there is so much pain and hurt in this world caused by people who want to do bad things. Oh how I wish this wasn’t so because there is such beauty and joy to experience in this life. We have experienced it! But our hearts are the most important aspect of who we are. Our hearts are strong, yet can be damaged with a single word or action… and that damage is hard to heal. I know, even now I deal with the pain everyday from the wounds people inflicted on me.
Guard your heart, just don’t close it.
Third, mom and I are always here. Home is our sanctuary. If you simply need a hug, find me. I love you.
I am unsure how this blog post will go, it might end up being poetic, and if so, cool.
Today I had a workshop as a dual credit instructor. I hurried after school to the college to make it on time. I was mostly excited to see my former colleagues that I worked with for three years. I sat patiently through the presentations, completed the tasks I needed to be ready for the second semester, then got to talk to my previous coworkers for a few minutes before I headed home.
I put on my coat, slung my computer bag around my shoulder and chest then headed down the hallway. It was quiet in the building. I was thinking of my time working with the college. At the end of the hallway was a row of large windows. The doorway was around the corner to the left. It was dark outside, so I could see a shaded reflection of myself walking. My footsteps soft but distinct because I was the only one at the time in the hallway.
I stopped three fourths of the way. As a wave of melancholy washed over me I stared at my reflection in the window. My face shadowed, my shoulders still broad, my computer bag on my hip, hands stuffed in the pockets of my coat. A stance I recognized because I’ve stood like that for decades… suddenly 51 years of living fell on my spirit.
It was only a few seconds, but it felt like eternity as my heart somehow felt every minute of my life pulsate through my chest into my mind. On one hand I felt grounded to the moment, my feet securely holding me up, but on the other hand I felt the wind of purpose, of meaning, blow right through me, as if I was the reflection I was staring at.
What had I really accomplished in 51 years?
Too many times I had been on the cusp of doing, what I felt would be great things, only to turn the wrong corner and start all over.
My name felt fragile at that moment.
I understood that on the scale of time, I wouldn’t even be recorded.
I took a step forward, the melancholy turning into deep rooted sadness with each step. The darkness outside eclipsed my reflection as I approached the corner to turn toward the exit. The winter wind reminded me that I was here.
I texted my wife to let her know I was on my way home.
When I got home my youngest daughter wanted to show me her new shoes and to dance in them with me.
I found myself lost again, but this time in the music of my daughter’s laughter (it was hard to spin her in new shoes on carpet).
For the first time in a while, everyone was around the table for breakfast on Sunday morning. There was only one blueberry muffin left, the eggs and bacon were all gone. And the morning was filled with conversation.
These moments are becoming rare, and I know that next year that having everyone home will be even less frequent. This is what bittersweet feels like. It is a mix of joy, reconnecting, laughter, pride, and knowledge of time running out, that scares me, to be honest.
Even though my word was Miles for this year (and I have traveled some miles this year), I sat thinking about how many miles my children have traveled this year. Especially my three older ones.
One of the things I am most proud of in this life is building a home. It has not been easy at times. But home is the center of our life as a family. Like a wheel, the house is the hub. My children are spokes. Their lives will take them away from the house, but the love we share keeps us connected; the rim that allows us to travel through this life.
As we started to put dishes away, I joked that the kitchen was going to be quiet once everyone was out of the house. My oldest son said, “You still got a long way to go,” as he looked at his youngest sister (age 9). I smiled at him because I knew deep down that I would be a dad for all of them, no matter how many miles they travel to come back home for blueberry muffins.
As many of you know, my word for this year is MILES, and I have fulfilled that word. Roughly, I have traveled 5,000 miles so far this year. I have traveled for sports, college visits, and a small family vacation. What is interesting about all my travels is how I’ve learned more about the idea of HOME.
Home is a house. A building that I start and finish my day at. A building that protects me and the family from storms. A place where we gather to eat dinner and to play Mario Kart. A place where we rest our heads and our feet. This house becomes a home because of the stories we share at the table, the protection we get from the emotional storms in our lives, and the laughter we share as dad comes in last again.
But home is not just this house. Home is our history. I went home this summer to visit my parents. It was just me, a few days to be their son and to walk down memory lane. One night we walked to the letter hill and found that my name, football number, and hand prints were still set in the concrete D on the hill by the high school.
My name and number.
For a few days I was simply their son. We talked about life, family, and recalled funny and emotional stories. The house was basically the same and so was the sense of home, especially the routine of gathering in the kitchen to talk. It was always the place we would gather before we went off on adventures (maybe someday I’ll share how we had to heat up the oil pan in the car with a waffle iron one winter).
Home is a routine. My wife and I make blueberry muffins every Sunday. Growing up we had bacon and eggs almost every Sunday. Home is the traditions we create. When I traveled with my daughter to Atlanta, it was funny how we still followed some of our normal routines, like eating at a certain time.
But what I’ve really come to realize is that home is actually the people we love and have a strong relationship with. One of the best things about the trip home was how easy it felt to talk and be with people that I hadn’t seen in years. It was like being home with them. I sat with my high school guidance counselor on her back step and just talked. Yes, we caught up on life, but there was no awkwardness to bridge because of the years. That is home.
If for some reason we had to move from this house, we would still have our home. You would find us eating dinner (at 6 p.m.) sharing stories at the dinner table. We would be home no matter where we were in this world.
I used to get up at 5:00 a.m. to get ready for the day. One cup of coffee, yogurt, and a banana. I would get back into bed (on my wife’s side) for a few minutes as my wife would finish getting ready for the day. I would shower while she ate breakfast.
But now, we get up at random times.
I used to teach in front of students. I could tell who was having a bad day. I could tell if my hyper class would have to be reined in because the lesson needed focus from them. My day was a roller coaster of grading, answering emails, and teaching.
But now, I answer emails and grade assignments as they are completed online.
I used to believe that I would live forever. That I had time to do everything I wanted with my life. Life was an open highway.
But now, well actually, I’ve realized that my days are numbered for some time now. This moment in time dealing with the COVID-19 situation has reinforced the reality that life is fleeting. As a society we are forced to deal with so many factors we take for granted in our everyday life. A handshake, eating out, graduations, and just the joy of an open highway.
I used to distrust people. OK, to be honest I still do, but that is a personal journey.
But now, I wonder what the effects of this pandemic will have on our culture. We were already dealing with anxiety, depression, and feelings of loneliness. Dealing with screen time and its connections to these emotions.
I used to go to church with my family, shake hands with others during The Liturgy of the Eucharist (Peace Be With You).
But now, we watch Mass on TV. Hearing the echoes of the few people in attendance during the filming of the service.
I used to make one box of blueberry muffins. When the boys were young, 12 muffins were enough for the family.
But now, we have added scrambled eggs and bacon or sausage, and we will have to start making 24 muffins as my oldest son has moved back home to finish his semester of college online.
I used to believe in love…
But now, I still do… There is no greater force in this life than Love. Oh, I know hate and other negative forces seem to gain more attention and seem to be more powerful. That the world is falling apart… but Love is what will rebuild the world.
Yesterday was filled with games, reading, a nap, and snacks.
It was a day of family, movies playing in the background, and laughter.
Yesterday was HOME.
I wondered how other people’s day was? Who was yelled at? Who spent the whole day on their phone? Who was hungry?
One of the challenging aspects of teaching is knowing that some students don’t have a home. For my faithful readers you may remember the student poem, “I Wake Up,” that I shared on my educational blog last year. As a teacher I wish I could change the world for all my students. But I can’t. That is a hard truth that is difficult to live with.
As a husband and father, I am proud of the home I have built. It takes work. It takes work everyday. But yesterday was a reminder of why it matters. Yesterday was a snow day. It was filled with joy. It was good to be home.
Last night my oldest daughter had pep band for a volleyball game. I had gotten the three younger girls to bed, so I headed out to the school to wait for my daughter. It was a clear, cool night so I opened the moonroof in the minivan.
I parked in the faculty parking lot. There was not much light pollution there, so I could see the night sky filled with stars. I turned off the minivan, leaned the seat back a little and just enjoyed the view. Without getting deeply personal, stargazing is a spiritual activity for me. As I enjoyed the moment, a thought shot across my mind… then my heart. I was looking at more stars than I had days left to watch them.
In a crazy moment of thought and feelings, I sat up. I actually got out of the van to get a better view of the sky, with that thought running through me. I was seeing more stars than days I had left.
I could tell the game had ended because people were exiting the building, walking toward their cars. I knew my daughter would soon be coming. She sprinted out of the doors looking for me. As she got into the van she noticed the moonroof was open. “Awesome!” she said.
She spent the ride home gazing up at the stars. She told me how much she loved the night sky. I didn’t share my insight. My daughter was in a joyous mood. She had every right to be.
I wish I could say my epiphany made today great, but it didn’t. I am actually in a somber mood, but not for the reason you might think.
What would a day look like? A classroom? A home? If we truly lived with the understanding that we have only so many days? How would we react if our personal night sky lost a star everyday… as our days dwindled… as our sky turned dark? Would we then choose love? Would we then choose to pursue or dreams?
I know the idea is not new… but last night I realized that there are more stars in the sky than days I have to view them… I’m not going to miss any opportunities.
I set the oven to 410 degrees and hit the start button.
Coffee is brewing.
I place the paper cups into the muffin pan.
My wife adds milk and eggs to the muffin mix as I drain the blueberries.
I mix the batter and fold in the blueberries.
As I am scooping the muffin batter into the cups, I am hit with a realization that this is the last blueberry muffins we will make for our oldest son… he moves into his college dorm room on Friday.
OK, I know that this is not really the last batch of muffins my son will eat on a Sunday morning with us. But this is the last Sunday we are together. My son’s life takes a drastic turn on Friday as he starts college. Everything changes. For everyone.
Now, major things won’t change. He will always be my son. I will always be here to read his poetry. He will always have a home to come back to; things like that. The foundation doesn’t change. But I can already start to feel the emptiness in our everyday life with this change.
His laughter at the dinner table. Raising his voice to make a point during a discussion. Playing Madden (I would always be the Vikings and he would be the Broncos). Texting about what to make for lunch. Watching an episode of the West Wing. The difficult aspect of change is the little things…
Next Sunday I will make blueberry muffins… I’m not sure how I will feel about the empty spot left as my son’s next chapter starts…
But I do know that I am proud of the man he has become.
It is all Connected 