Tagged: Intention

Have a Bad Day

I’m blessed.

I’m a husband and I’m a father.

I’m a son, a brother, a nephew and a friend.

I’m an elementary school principal.

Together with my wife, my family, my friends, and my colleagues, the days of my life are dedicated to the service of children. For that, they are purposeful, reflective, and inspired by a steadfast belief that each generation is meant to be, and to do better than the one before it.

I’m a human being, and because of that, I have good days and I have bad days.

Currently, like you, I’m living through  an extended crisis. 

It’s a brand new year, though. So, I’m supposed to be my best self, at least for a while. Right?

A few days? A few weeks? Months, maybe?

I’m supposed to start the year off strong. A new beginning.

I’m supposed to be tolerant, not frustrated.

Patient, not restless.

I’m supposed to breath through challenges.

I’m supposed to be resilient.

The problem is, I’m having a bad day.

Instead of getting to bed at a reasonable time last night I binge watched Survivor: Heroes v. Villains. So proud of that fine decision making and stellar time management (as my six-year-old would say, “I’m being sarcastic.”)

I got my second wind sometime after midnight, proceeded to toss and turn for while, and then began the long, arduous process of becoming a colossal grouch.

January 1st…colossal grouch. So much for a new beginning.

Bravo, big guy.

I spent the morning distant from my family, short in my responses, brooding, and completely unproductive.

Another proud admission: I began the day with a lavish pity party for myself. One for the books.

It was a hot ticket party, with an all star guest list. Everyone knows I throw the best pity parties, and so they all showed up.

Guilt and frustration were sidled up to the bar laughing over stories about my awkward early twenties. Contempt was flirting with anger at a table near the dance floor. Self-righteous indignation was at the podium, relentlessly roasting self-awareness, who was close to tears at the coat room counter fumbling for his tag so that he could get out of there as soon as possible.

Foolish pride, resentment and misplaced aggression were whispering, smirking, rolling their eyes and shaking their heads as they combed over what was truly a tremendous dessert buffet, popping mini cream puffs into their mouths and loading their plates with all sorts of the most fashionable designer confections you could imagine. Very trendy…and delicious, too.

Grumble was doing karaoke, but no one was listening.

I was failing. Starting the year failing.

The first thought that came to mind as I began recovering from the pity party was that I needed to be stronger…that I was stronger. Why couldn’t I pull it together?

My second thought was about the extreme privilege underlying everything I do and everything have. I felt disgusted with myself. How could I be feeling so down and being such a baby about it? Pathetic.

My third thought was about forgiveness. I could linger in this, or I could forgive myself, pull myself up, and get on with things. After all, new year or not, this is really just another day, and as I mentioned above, some days are good and some days are bad.

There’s a researcher named Dr. Marciel Francisco Losada who suggested that high performance and well-being can be associated with a positivity to negativity ratio of 3:1. If that’s true, Maybe we can maintain high performance and well-being by seeing that our good days outweigh our bad days 3:1. We can’t avoid having bad days. Maybe we should simply accept them, lean into them, live them, forgive ourselves, and chart them to stay in balance.

The way I see it, there are 365 days in a year. Actually, that’s not just the way I see it, that’s the way it is. If we can make sure that about 245 of them are good days we might be doing alright. That leaves 120 in the bank of potential bad days before our performance and wellbeing are impacted (in theory).

No one looks for bad days. We don’t want to feel down, lonely, lost, hopeless, unfulfilled or disconnected. We don’t want to be frustrated. We don’t want to let people down or contribute to their stress or hurt. That said, there doesn’t see to be any avoiding that sometimes we will.

Even as an eternal optimist, I wonder if we’re setting ourselves up for increased suffering and disappointment if we aim for 365 good days in a year. I wonder if leaning in, accepting, being reflective, and taking stock of our bad days could be a path to growth, to high performance and to wellbeing.

Either way, I’m starting this year out with this message to the incredible people I’m blessed to be living this life with: have a bad day. Have 120 of them if that’s the path you’re on. Try to keep it around or below that number for your own sake. No matter what happens in any given moment, and for what it’s worth, you won’t be letting me down or hurting me.

Forgive me for bad behavior in my toughest moments. I’ll do the same for you. We are truly in this together. The ups and the downs make us who we are.

It’s a beautiful, terrible, confusing, and inspired world. Even on a bad day, I’m as excited as every to be taking steps forward in leaving my legacy, whatever it may be, for the next generation in the year to come.

In it together for the kids.

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

Complaining About Long Walks With Puppies (and other things you might consider trying to avoid)

Like many others, we got a COVID puppy. Leo (the puppy in question) is a 40 lb, 7-month-old beagle, chow, chihuahua, terrier mix (according to the DNA test), and unlike our two 14-year-old long-haired Chihuahuas (6 and 8 lbs), he needs to go for long walks every day. So now, along with the multitude of other stuff I don’t always get to in a given day, there’s that. 

Even as I issue a complaint about “having” to go for long walks each day with a puppy, I understand how ridiculous that is. I suppose there are many people who would love to be “burdened” in this way. In fact, it’s actually one of the great joys I’m fortunate enough to be able to experience. 

Currently, there are 6 people and 4 dogs living in our house. Occasionally, I use that fact as a sympathetic plea, but really, I may be one fo the luckiest people around because of it. All this canine and youthful energy, for all the momentary frustrations it beings, fuels me in very positive ways.

I’m an optimist…a naive one at that. In earnest, I believe there’s a positive path forward in every situation. I see every challenge as a chance. Through my lens, opportunity surrounds us all the time. More visible in moments of clarity, and hard to recognize in moments of struggle and confusion. 

Along with being an optimist, I’m a human being, so I do go down negative paths when tough emotions get the better of me. It’s what human beings do occasionally. Even an optimistic view of overcoming tough emotions leaves us treading negative paths some of the time. No one’s perfect, lease of all me. Forgiveness, determination, and grit come in handy for just that reason. So does intentional positivity. 

Even when I’m not functioning and/or presenting at my best, much of my time is spent in reflection on how to make positive progress as a husband, a father, and educator, and a community leader. 

In this moment, we’re all entrenched in trauma. The impact of this global health crisis has been incredibly powerful. It’s caused us to have to live in ways we wouldn’t have otherwise imagined. A silver-lining view brings to light many positive outcomes with regard to learning, development, and innovation, but that silver-lining view is more accessible to some that others. 

I continue to return to the notion that one of my mentors shared with me some months ago, “We are all in the same storm, but we’re in different boats.”

Even as I suggest intentional positivity and recommend the following exercise, I have to recognize that it will be easier to engage in for some than it will for others. Specifically, people of color and others from marginalized populations are impacted in ways that I can’t even imagine as a middle-aged white man. 

The exercise is called “Opposite Behavior.” I learned about it through my study of Positive Psychology. Here’s how it works:

  • Recognize when you are feeling a tough, or negative emotion
  • In that moment, stop what you’re doing
  • Think about the action you’re about to take (i.e. sadness may cause you to withdraw, anger may cause you to snap at someone, etc.)
  • Consider the opposite behavior of the one the tough emotion is propelling you toward (i.e. engage instead of withdrawing, perpetuate and act of kindness rather than snap, etc.)
  • Reflect on the opposite behavior, write it down or speak it to yourself
  • Do the opposite behavior
  • Reflect on if, and how doing the opposite behavior impacted your emotional state (in theory, you should feel a shift from negative to positive) 

Easier said than done, but with effort, doable…and in my experience – worth a try. 

Living through a pandemic isn’t easy either. However, I truly believe, with the right tools, strategies, and mindset, we can manage it in positive and growth-producing ways for ourselves and our children if we’re intentional about how we respond to challenges as they come our way.

Yesterday, our oldest son took the long puppy walk with me. We turned in places that led us away from home instead of toward it. We stretched that walk out as far as we could, talking, laughing, and bonding as we went. He told me he was glad to have had that time together. I was elated. 

What a treat. 

What a blessing.

What a fortunate person I am to “have” to take long walks with puppies.

I’m overwhelmed with gratitude and extremely optimistic about the way forward. 

In it together for the kids.

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

What Keeps Me Up At Night

I was walking with our 11-year-old at the Zoo yesterday. He said, “Daddy?”

I said, “Yes?”

He said, “What if aliens use the same words as us, but they mean something completely different?”

I didn’t need to ask for clarification…he went on before I could,” I mean, like, what if the word ‘want’ means ‘pickle’ to aliens, or what if the work ‘play’ means ‘book?’

His voice began to shake a bit, his energy level lifted, and his shoulder and arms started oscillating up and down, and back and forth.

He continued, “…and, like when they say that no two snowflakes are the same, that’s impossible. There have been so many snowflakes. It just ins’t possible that none of them are the same.”

He took a sharp breath and kept going, “…and if aliens do use the same words as we do but the means something different, they wouldn’t be able to understand anything we’re talking about. They might think we’re saying something different than what we’re actually saying. It would be so confusing!”

He started to make that face you make when you feel like crying but you’re not quite there. The kind of face you make when you’d like to be there…when a good cry might be just what you need.

He went through a series of equally interesting and unique diatribes on a variety of seemingly unconnected subjects before taking a deep breath, looking up at me, and letting me know, “That’s what keeps me up at night.”

Then, he said something I didn’t expect.  It was just about the most obvious thing he could have said, and I’m not sure why I didn’t expect it, but I didn’t.  He said, “…and I’m really tired of COVID.”

Aha.

Duh.

Surprise, surprise…our 11-year-old is tired of living his first year of middle school without having seen the inside of an actual school.

He’s tired spending time with his the top third of his friends’ heads from six feet away.

He’s tired of living every waking moment trying to start the next phase of his physical, emotional, social, and spiritual life surrounded by his mom, his dad, and his three younger siblings.

He’s tired of wondering if he’ll get sick.

He’s tired of so much being so far out fo his control. 

Or, maybe he’s truly and deeply concerned about the possibility that us and aliens seem to have no hope of ever understanding one another. Yah, that’s probably it.

They may not be telling us exactly what’s on their minds in every moment.

They may not know.

It might not always, or even ever end with, “…and I’m really tired of COVID.” 

It may not matter.

It may only matter that we take whatever time we can to be there. 

We can’t relieve our children of the inevitable hurt they’re going to suffer repeatedly over the course of their lives, but we can be there to listen as they process. We can make clear that we care, that they are not alone, that even challenging is also a chance, and that sharing emotions represents a really healthy kind of strength.

Listen. Make time. Genuinely listen. Value, celebrate, respect, model, guide, and validate. 

Kids of this COVID generation may turn out to be the most resilient human beings in history. They may be the ones to actually be the change we want; the change we need.

Heck, they may learn how to communicate with aliens. 

We can help them with our hearts, our minds, and our ears.

Funny thing, when we do…it helps us, too.

In it together for the kids.

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

4M’s: A Focus Strategy for Grace and Understanding Through Trauma

Trauma brain. We don’t necessarily walk around thinking about how we’re several months into a global health crisis with an end that’s hard to see. We know it, and we feel the impact all around us, but we don’t think about it all the time. 

One of the cool things about the human condition is that we’re adaptable. We submerge ourselves in whatever reality we exist within, and to some extent, we make it our normal; our “new normal.”

If you’re like me, you didn’t imagine that these days, weeks and months after COVID 19 emerged, we’d still be so significantly embedded in a world of mitigation. I didn’t specifically think we wouldn’t be, it just didn’t cross my mind. I was taking it one day at a time, and through my foundational lens of optimism, I imagined best case scenarios every step of the way. I still do.

The fact is, optimism and all, like everyone else, I’m experiencing trauma.

Another cool thing about the human condition is that we are resilient. I’m lucky. I haven’t had to endure an unbalanced amount of trauma over the course of my life so far. That, along with the fact that I’ve been privileged, loved, and provided countless supports from the time I was I child, has enabled me to build enough resilience to feel relatively comfortable sorting through this traumatic situation.

Don’t get me wrong, I have ups and downs. I’ve experienced a range of emotions. Sometimes I’m my best self and sometimes I’m disappointed with my words and actions. Sometimes my presence is comforting to those around me and sometimes I catalyze heightened anxiety by pushing too hard for a purely positive tact or falling out of balance. 

That leads me to the 4M’s strategy. It’s about grace and understanding. It’s about remembering that we’re not alone, even in relative isolation. It’s about the indelible, universal truth that when we think of others with gratitude and empathy, when we exercise compassion, when we seek to understand ourselves and those around us, when we give with hearts, and when we stay present, we create enhanced spaces for individual and collective well-being.

Missteps

We all make them. When you do, breath through it. Get your footing. Remember your humanity and the humanity of others. Give yourself the grace of forgiveness and don’t allow judgement to weigh you down. After all, judgment is usually perceived more than real, and even when it’s perceived as real by the sources, it tends to be a phantom perpetuated by fear and frustration…a misstep in and of itself.

Mindfulness

We have the power to stop time. It takes a great deal of practice. Admittedly, I have a long way to go in refining my mindfulness practice. That said, I have felt the calming impact of a truly mindful moment. I’ve experienced the release of unnecessary burdens by way of connected breathing and the letting go temporary distractions. Think of time when a wave of tranquility washed over you. Seek that feeling as frequently as possible. We are suffering in many ways, however, “We suffer more often in imagination than in reality.” – Senca, and, “You drown not by falling into a river but by staying submerged in it.” – Paulo Cohelo. 

Mission

What are you about? Why do you get out of bed in the morning? We’re each living a mission. Educators muster the strength to move through space and time so that we can make a positive impact on the lives of the children we serve. That’s our mission. In times like these, it can help to turn to the mission frequently. It can provide strength and inspire courage.

Moments

Time seems fluid, but really, if you choose to view it this way, it’s a series of moments. The benefit of a “moments” world view is that we can utilize stops and starts to our advantage when it comes to well-being and positive progress. With missteps, mindfulness and mission in mind, we can take things one moment at a time. We can celebrate a series of triumphs and we can face a series of challenges. We can forgive ourselves for stumbles and keep moving forward with the knowledge that we have as many more tries as we need to get things right. 

Remember, practice makes progress. No strategy is perfect, nor will any work for everyone. During this uniquely challenging time my hope is that exploring the 4M’s strategy might help you take steps in whatever direction you’re looking to go in. It’s helping me. 

In it together for the kids!

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

Ride While Crying: A Focus on Resilience Through Trauma

This is hard.

It’s hard in a strange way.  I don’t always realize how hard it is.

I sometimes find myself engaged in the following reflexive Q and A:

“How are you?”

“Doing good.”

“How are the kids?”

“Great.”

I understand that there are many families challenged in ways that our family can’t even imagine.

I know that we live with privilege , and that experiencing a global health crisis is different for me and my family than it is for many others. I understand that it doesn’t always feel hard for us because we have everything we need, and if we think need something we don’t have, we can either get it or live without it. Joyfully, even.

We’ve spent most of our moments enjoying time together over the past several months, feeing comfortable and secure, and being able to generate strength on the foundation of the “silver linings” lens we’re fortunate to see through and live within. I know that our privilege exists on the foundation of a void of privilege for others. I also know writing that sentiment won’t provide resources, security or health to the others in question, but somehow I felt pulled to write about that recognition of my privilege as a precursor to the following reflection, so I did.

One of my mentors puts our situation like this: same storm, different boats.

To whatever extent, and on whatever level, we are each living through trauma in this moment. We are each wondering when some normalcy will return to our world, for our children and for ourselves, and we are each hoping beyond hope that it will be sooner rather than later.

Our five year old learned to ride a two-wheeler without training wheels this summer.  One of his favorite British television shows refers to training wheels as “stabilizers” – so of course, we do too.

On the first day of riding without stabilizers he managed to slowly but surely plow head first into the giant cement base of a sign post. I watched in wonderment as his face ran in what seemed to be slow motion across the gritty cylinder. Unable to stop himself, he slid all the way to the ground, bracing himself with his head. It was fascinating and troubling simultaneously. Thankfully, thick skulls run in our family.

As he managed his way back up, untangling his legs from the bike frame along the way, hopping and shifting to gain balance, determined to reset, I noticed a gigantic alligator tear sliding down his reddened cheeks. 

I suspected he’d be ready to throw in the towel. I was wrong.

This kid, my strong-willed wife’s son, our adventurous explorer, the determined fourth child, looked up at me in earnest and asked, “Can I ride while crying?”

“You sure can, brother.”

And ride he did.

And guess what…he wasn’t crying for long.

Again, this is hard. Whoever you are, whatever boat you’re in…this is hard.

None of us have stabilizers for a pandemic.

Cry if you need to.  I have.  I’m sure I will some more.

But, ride while crying. 

We’re strong.  We’re courageous.  Individually and collectively we have the will to overcome, to survive, and to thrive.

We aim for joyful and balanced days, and a bright future for ourselves and our children…and our aim is true.

Have your good days and your bad days. 

Fall apart as frequently as you need to, but always put yourself back together – better than before.

Forgive yourself for stumbling.

Be ok with the mess of it all.

Build resilience.

Ride while crying.

In it together for the kids!

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

My 2020 Fifth Grade Commencement Address in Speech and Song

This past week I offered a commencement address honoring the first group of students I met as kindergarteners when I became an elementary school principal.

Needless to say, this is very special moment in time for me. 

I remember the feeling of being “the new principal.”

I remember feeling like I had a lot to learn about the job, and that I had a lot to learn about the kids. 

Caring for children from the age of 4 or 5 through the age of 10 or 11 is a different thing than caring for children beginning when they’re more advanced along their educational journey. 

Along with the families and staff who are my partners, I feel like I’ve played a role in raising these kids, and the truth is, I’m extremely proud of them. 

To be clear, I’m proud of every student I’ve met along this journey. 

Still, for these kids, I’m the only principal that they’ve had.

So this year, as I considered a commencement address, I sat and looked at the cabinet in my office which is lined with the handprints these 10 and 11-year-olds gifted me when they were 4 and 5-year-olds. 

I thought of their hands then, what their hands have done since, and what their hands, hearts, and minds are capable of doing now. 

I truly believe in the power of possibility, and I truly believe that these uniquely challenging times will foster a type of resilience that will manifest in positive world change generated from the hands, hearts and minds of this group of kids. 

So, in this year’s address I spoke some words from my heart, and remembering that music can deliver a message in alternate ways, I decided to sing as well. 

I sang a song that I wrote for all of the children of this generation. All of those who are engaged in any transition, moving from grade level to grade level or to from school to school, and in particular, for the four children my wife and I spend our days with, watching them thrive in an environment that completely shifted under their feet. 

Kids are resilient, and they learn how to grapple by having things to grapple with.

This generation of kids, at every level, are going to be sophisticated, compassionate, productive, and positive grapplers. 

As I watch the world go by with slow change in the rearview mirror and all around me, I have every bit of confidence that this generation will be the one to see our hopes and dreams of widespread peace, love, unity, inclusion and belonging fulfilled.

This is my message as I bid our fifth grade graduates a safe, joyful, and balanced journey forward. 

This is my message to all children. 

This is my message to anyone who’s interested.

In it together for the kids!

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

I Will Miss You

I was at the park with our youngest son, recently.  We were taking about the farm that we plan to build together, one day.  It will be called, “The Buddy Farm.”  

Among other things, we’ll have cows, we’ll have pigs, we’ll have corn, and we’ll have pumpkins. He and I will be the owners. I’ll manage the work and the workers, and he’ll be the one to show people around when they come to the farm.  

His brothers and his sister, his mother, his aunts and uncles, and his cousins will all work a the farm. This is the plan.

We sat, leaned back on the side of a hill, looking up at the sky through a canopy of trees. It was a beautiful day. A string of moments, essentially standing still. 

As we lay there, soaking it in, he spoke of getting older. He told me he wanted to build “The Buddy Farm” because he wan’t going to get married or have a family.  

He told me that his plan was to live with me forever.  

He told me that he doesn’t want to have a family because he thinks kissing is gross. I suggested that five-year-olds tend to feel that way, and that eventually he might enjoy kissing. I told he might eventually change his mind, fall in love, and decide to have a family, after all.  

He assured me it was unlikely, but even so, even if he were to fall in love and have a family, he was still going to live with me forever. 

He went on to inform me that if he did have kids, his brothers and his sister would be their uncles and their aunt, and that I would be there grandfather. 

Then it happened. As if he realized it just then, as if he was verifying it for himself, he told me that when he becomes a grandfather I will probably have passed.  

While difficult to hear, I could see that it was most likely true.

He looked at me with inquisitive eyes, as if to clarify.  

I agreed with a smile and a nod.

I told him that would probably one the case, and I did my best to conceal the pang of pain that ran through every molecule of my essence, though I’m guessing it showed in some form, somewhere on my face.  

He looked at me for another moment before leaning back and turning his eyes to the sky. In a patience, contemplative tone, he declared, “I will miss you.”

I thought, I will miss you too, Buddy, and my heart did something so profound and powerful that I can’t exactly explain it. I was uplifted and deeply sorrowful at exactly the same time. 

I left myself for an instant. Thinking of my boy every having to miss me is among the most intense images I can produce.  

He shifted over to rest his head in the crook of my arm, and there we lay, together, for some time, not having to miss one another yet.

It got me thinking. There are people in my life who I am not near to at this moment. They haven’t passed, but I am simply not in proximity to them. I don’t miss them. Instead, I feel their presence.  

Maybe that’s because I know I could see them, talk to them, and touch them if I wanted to. Or maybe it’s because when our connectedness isn’t based on a physical, but an emotional plane. I’d like to believe that. I do believe that. 

I believe, whether we’re present, far from one another, or even passed, we can use our minds and our heart to connected with one another. 

As I think about “lost” loved ones on this Memorial Day weekend, I take comfort in the feelings of connectedness I have.

Something inside of me believes that the connectedness exists for them, too.

Whatever you believe, I would suggest that using our minds and our hearts to perpetuate bonds with those we love can be healing. 

At the very least, I believe it isn’t hurtful to try. Sometimes uplifting and sorrowful at exactly the same time, but not hurtful. 

In it together for the kids. 

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

Finding the Good Ain’t Bad

Our experiences impact how we feel and how we function.  

Positive experiences tend to uplifted and energized us. Negative experiences can produce a range of responses that cause us to feel a range of emotions, from contemplative to drained of energy and upset.  

All of our experiences are important. None are without value.  

Even feeling pain, sadness and fear can help us learn and grow. Challenging emotions support the building of resilience. 

I’ve heard it said that kids learn to grapple when they have things to grapple with. I believe that’s true for all of us, kids and adults. We need to grapple in order to grow. We need to do so in thoughtful, safe and intentional ways. 

With focus and strength we can lift and shift the experiences of our days, and we can maximize the value of each. We can do it by compartmentalizing.  

When we make note of, and seek to understand our experiences, we can deign an energy flow that promotes positivity, productivity, and health. In this way, we can enhance our ability to process experiences, both positive and negative. 

Imagine each experience you have as a dash in a long, broken but cohesive line. A chain of events. Indelibly interwoven, but not connected physically. Imagine each experience as one piece of your day that eventually becomes a completed puzzle. 

Some experiences practically process themselves while some are more difficult to process.  

If we lift the more difficult dashes, or pieces, above the imaginary line of our daily experiences, and separate them from those that flow easily, we can put them aside for later reflection.

We can’t attend to everything in the moment it happens. There’s simply too much. If we want to remain present we can’t get wrapped up in every challenging emotion that comes our way. When we lift and shift, we can breath, regroup, focus, and go back to experiences with intentionality.

It’s not easy and it takes practice, however, when I’m able to achieve the lift and shift, I find it extremely worthwhile. 

For example, when someone treats me in an unkind way, and I’m able to lift that treatment out of my immediate timeline rather than attaching myself to negative emotions, I can stay present with the game of tag I’m playing, the book I’m reading, or the joyful experience of laying on a hammock with my daughter, counting leaves and imagining that clouds are dragons and bunnies.  

When I’m ready and have some time, I can re-engage with the challenging experience and it’s connected learning in a more productive way. When I do that, the lessons seem to take hold more deeply, with meaning rather than emotion as the foundation.  

Another piece of the experiential puzzle has to do with the narratives we write about our experiences. 

Narratives are important, and they come in multiple forms. There are the narratives we write instinctively, the ones that pop into our minds as experiences are unfolding, and then there are the ones we write reflectively, given some time and space. 

If someone treats me in an unkind way my instinct might be to consider that person unkind, when actually, they are more likely upset or frustrated. 

Most often, the initial narrative from a negative experience is not the one I want to stick with, in large part because it’s typically driven by emotion. 

When I lift and shift I still write the instinctive narrative, however, I give myself an opportunity to write multiple other narratives until I find the one that’s best for my learning and growth.

What else might be happening in any give scenario, other than the reactive, emotional possibilities that can enter our minds in moments of frustration?  

After writing multiple narratives, we can connect them to the most succinct understanding of reality that we know. We can’t read minds or understand all of the finite nuances of the world in which we live, but we can find the good in most things.

This strategy can help us decrease worry about things that are outside of our control.

Lifting and shifting, in conjunction with extended and thoughtful narrative writing, helps us assume positive intentions, which in my experience most people seem to have. 

Refining out ability to process in healthy and thoughtful ways increases well-being and perpetuates positive progress for everyone involved.

In it together for the kids.

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

Let Yourselves Off The Hook Parents and Educators

This weekend’s sunshine reminded me of something important.  It reminded me of the ebbs and the flows of being a parent and an educator.  It reminded me that there are triumphant days and that there are challenging days. 

On triumphant days, the kids we’re serving and parenting demonstrate high levels of independence.  They engage in work and play without excessive arguing, fussing or fighting.  They make themselves cereal for breakfast and sandwiches for lunch, they put their dirty dishes in the sink, they put toys away after using them, they flush the toilet and they wash their hand.

On challenging days, our kids argue, fuss and fight.  They don’t even need to be asked to do anything, they crawl out of their beds grumpy, and they grump around all day.  They snap at us, they roll their eyes, they stomp and sulk, and sometimes they growl.  On challenging days, everything feels like a battle, all day long.  

They tell us that they don’t like what we made them for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.  They ask us to make them something different, and then they don’t eat that either.  

On really challenging days they tell us that we’re the “meanest” and that they hate us. 

The thing is, the sun goes up and the sun goes down, and then the sun comes up again.  

This weekend, as I walked with sunshine radiating against my skin and blue skies above, I remembered that, like the sunshine, everything comes and goes. 

Kids are kids.  Each one is unique in many ways, but each one is a kid.  Like us, they have triumphs and they have challenges.  As parents and educators we need to simply be sure that our limbs are inside the rollercoaster car and that the safety bar is securely fastened.  We need to throw our hands up and cheer when we’re racing over hills and around the turns.  

We need to celebrate the triumphs and face the challenges with as much patience and compassion as we can, knowing that with every experience comes opportunities for learning, for them and for us.  

We need to alway remember the deep and abiding love we feel for our kids.  Even, and especially when it’s difficult, we need to muster deep and abiding love for ourselves, and maybe most importantly…we need to let our selves off the hook.

This stuff ain’t easy, but we got it!

In it together for the kids!

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

Publicly Strutting


I’ve been rollerblading every day since the stay-at-home order was put in place. It’s something I can do without getting near anyone. It’s exercise. I can engage in online meetings and phone calls while I’m doing it. The wind cuts through my hair and I glide as though I’m flying, when the surface is smooth and the slope is down.

It can be exhilarating and it can be fun. It get’s me lost in thought sometimes, which I apprecaite.

It snowed today.

It’s snowed on a couple of other days, too, but today it snowed the kind of snow that doesn’t dry up. It was pretty, but it was wet. It was fluffy until it landed, and then it was puddly. It lasted all day. Rollerblading (even for a guy who tends to find a way unless there truly isn’t one) was out of the question. 

So I walked.

I walked through eight phone conversations and the taping of my daily video message (above).

My glasses were fogged and water cascaded down my face, starting from beads dropping of my hair, and becoming streams running along the contours of my cheeks, water-falling from my chin.

I was sopping. My toes were cold. My feet were sore. 

I was processing guilt, having been away from my family for the bulk of the morning while knowing that when I returned I would have to lock myself away to take on the overflowing communication load that piled up this week.

In a flash, realized my hardships were nothing, shifting the guilt of a few hours away from my family to the guilt of knowing that I have everything I need while so many thousands of people are suffering in unthinkable ways around the world. 

Foggy glasses and cascading water didn’t seem so bad, I wasn’t actually that cold, my feet didn’t hurt so bad.

I had a few blocks left before getting to the front door of a house where my loving kids and wife were playing, and where we would sit down for a nice lunch after I shook the snow off my hair and changed my socks.  

Just a few blocks away from home, after about an hour and half of walking in the snow, Peter Gabriel’s “Red Rain” came creeping into my ear buds from Pandora. 

It crept at first, as it does. It built to a proper pour before long, as it also does, and I noticed I was strutting. 

“Red Rain” was pouring into my ears. The beat overtook me.

The sense that we, humanity, in this moment of extreme challenge, remain kind, compassionate, and individually and collectively strong, invigorated me, and so, I was publicly strutting. 

Walking to the beating drums, chin up and a bounce in my step.

I don’t know if a middle aged man struts publicly because he’s lost in something and confused, or if he does so because something has propelled him into a deepened sense of self and into enhanced clarity. It doesn’t matter. It felt good. 

I din’t mind if people saw. I hoped they did.

We can’t change what we’re going through.

We can’t make it better for those who are out of our reach.

We can take care of ourselves, we can look after our families, and we can stay at home to keep distance to help flattened the curve. 

We can connect by phone, through social media, and by way of loud conversations across lawns so that our hearts remain bonded.

We can project love in as many directions as we can face, and if the mood takes us, even if we’re walking down the street with slushy snow covering our heads and the greatest hits of the eighties pouring into our ears, we can strut.

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead.

In it together for the kids.