I shouldn’t have come here.

I’m sitting at a hightop table along the exposed-brick wall toward the back of the coffee shop. Looking around, I’m realizing the place is maybe, like, 80% full. Weird. I expected it to be packed. Usually there’s a line out the door and getting a table is this sort of cut-throat game of overly-polite musical chairs.

Whatever, I only have about an hour or so before they close.

I biked here because thought for sure they’d have AC. Only after I arrived did I discover they don’t. Instead, the doors are propped open and that’s just definitely not helping anything at all, even the tiniest bit. What was most surprising, though, was the guy playing an electric guitar on a bench near the register.

He’s plugged into a personal amp and everything.

Sounds like he’s playing a blues-rock version of Santana, though, so he’s cool with me. While I’m watching him, I’m mostly trying not to think about how my shirt is still papier-mâchéd to my shoulders. I’ve got my headphones on but I’m not listening to anything. And I’m suddenly aware that I’m the only person left in the shop. There’d been a mix of people when I got here and I it’s not like I’ve been here that long. How did I not notice the families with the young kids slip out? Or the other folks on their laptops, like me? Even the gaggle of forty-somethings who seemed like Saturday regulars had packed up and shipped out.

Now it’s just me and guitar guy.

And if that’s the case, he probably thinks he’s playing for no one since I’m wearing headphones and looking at my computer.

Shit.

Ok.

So the headphones are off and my laptop’s closed. Doing some quick math, I’ve decided I’ll just finish what I was working on later. He’s looking down either at the guitar or his feet—whichever it is, he’s in his own world for the time being. Reaching across the wooden table-top, I pull my notebook toward me and snag my pen from between the pages. The notes start to drift, and it seems like he’s lulling to a stop. Sure enough, he reaches for his mug and I’m able to see the tired lines of his face, draped above his sunken cheeks.

I start clapping sort of gently, but firmly enough to let him know I’m enjoying his music.

When he looks up, his entire face rebounds.

We share a smile, and he launches into “Street Fighting Man” by the Rolling Stones. He doesn’t know it, but that was so absolutely the right choice. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a musician. So much so, that my grandfather built a wooden platform in the corner of our basement to serve as a stage where I could practice guitar and pretend I was Keith Richards. I even had a poster on the wall from the Stones’ No Security Tour in ‘99.

Leaning up against the bricks, I’m just sitting there, smiling. Sure, they’re closing soon and I’ll have to forge my way back out into the heat... but for now, time is on my side.

Yes, it is.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
286/365

When you feel the tug of the present moment, do you lean in or pull away?

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I’m sweating profusely; let’s... um, ok how about we just leave it at that?

Normally I love the windows in my office, but today they’ve made it feel like a second-story greenhouse in here. Which, objectively, is kind of cool... except for the fact that I’m melting. I swear, it’s like the AC isn’t doing a damn thing. There’s no way I could live in the south. I used to travel to Atlanta somewhat regularly for work, but it was only bearable because the AC was always flowing steadily through the hotels and conference rooms. That made things bearable enough.

My eyes flare and I feel my chin tuck into my chest with a shiver.

Ok, this is ridiculous—my office has reached its boiling point and I’m admitting a very humid defeat.

After settling in at the dining room table with the shades drawn, I resume my end-of-week inbox crusade. Scrolling to where I left off, I click on the latest piece of writing from . She’s typically short, sweet, and to the point—even while prying open some rather huge ideas—so I figure I’ve got time to check it out.

As I’m reading, I can feel my face scrunching up.

Well, shit.

That’s…

Wow, yeah, ok.

In one single-line, Sara managed to articulate something I’ve been wrestling with for years... She said she’s slowly been learning that “accepting timing does not mean abandoning agency.” She went on to say “It means holding agency and humility at the same time.”

Squirming in my seat, I’ve stopped sweating as much but I’m still covered in it.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
285/365

Are you someone who believes in the timing of things falling into place, or do you believe in engineering their existence yourself? Can both be true?

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I went running today but I probably shouldn’t have.

My ankle’s still not doing so great.

But I needed to move.

Like, NEEDED it.

So I’m shuffling my way along the tree corridor by the lake. It’s late afternoon and my shirt’s been soaked through since I stepped outside. Figures. It’s cottonwood snowflake season, too, and I’m trying not to inhale any of the falling flakes but I sort of feel like they’re velcroing themselves to me like chicken feathers. Whatever. It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t so fucking humid.

It’s times like these that I really miss living out west... you know, where it’s a “dry heat.” I’m a mix of Scottish, Irish, German, and French-Canadian and I gotta tell ya, heat and I simply do not mix. Never have. I used to get heat stroke fairly often at summer camp growing up. I actually even passed out in the pool once.

UGH.

I’m looking at the lake, and the sun-rays rippling on the waves, and complaining feels dumb. I know I’m lucky to live here and have access like this. It’s hard though; I think back to waking up in a tent in front of the Tetons and I actually feel an ache in my bones. I miss it. I miss needing a puffy jacket first thing in the morning in July. I miss running the dirt road out by Spring Gulch with its snowflakey cottonwoods and sagebrush. The heat there’s just... different. I miss getting into some big shit and looking out on the valley from a perch in the mountainside.

Sometimes I wonder if I should just go back... I wonder if I’m trying to build a life in one place, but the universe is trying to get me to build it somewhere else.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
284/365

When you meet resistance, do you grit? Or do you quit? Why?

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Last night Isobel and I were talking about my comfort with public speaking.

We’re in the living room. She’s sitting next to me and, referencing my keynote from over the weekend, is very kindly complimenting how natural I seem on stage. Even if I feel nervous on the inside, she says, it doesn’t look that way. Which means something’s working with how I’ve been preparing.

Anyway, I lean back and cross my left foot over my right on the coffee table, even though my mom always hated that. Looking over at Isobel, I find myself saying how much I like being on stage. Ironically, it’s sort of always felt like one of the only places I don’t have to defend my thinking. Instead, I feel like I can just... be. Same with writing. I mean, they feel like that now, but each took a shit-ton of practice to get comfortable saying things I believe without bracing for possible rebukes.

Learning to express myself freely has been a total, unrelenting slog.

In that keynote I gave, I told a story about a time I felt like I botched things pretty massively when I failed to stop a fight I could’ve prevented (I’ve also written about it). It felt like failure to me because I hadn’t acted in the way I wanted to, but in the way I thought would perform best, socially. I abandoned my morals to save myself at the expense of someone else.

Today I revisited a podcast that I actually listened to not all that long ago.

Ok fine, it was pretty recently...

In doing so I discovered something I wish I’d understood in high school, college, and even into my twenties: a quote from Adam Grant.

“An easy way to pick the wrong career is to put your image above your interests.
Because meaningful work isn’t about impressing others…
It’s about expressing your values.”

I mean... right?

That would’ve been so helpful back then.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
283/365

Do you know what you value? When challenged by something, or someone, how do you respond?

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The table I like was open, so I snagged it.

I’m sitting by the window, draped in sunlight, while pulling out my notebook and my laptop. A couple tables over, a woman and a young girl are chit-chatting in the sort of way where, after a sentence gets said, it gets repeated like a call-and-response.

The kiddo’s sporting a ponytail with some food on her face, and her feet are dangling from the wooden chair without reaching the footrest (let alone the floor). The woman’s asking her questions a mom would probably know the answers to, so maybe this is a babysitter? Or maybe a young grandmother?

I’m trying not to eavesdrop but I’m still fishing for my headphones in my bag and this kid’s babbling. She’s holding a butter knife and proudly showing off her culinary expertise with what many would call a marvelous take on Jam On Toast.

Kinda young to be wielding a knife, though, right?

Huh, what age would be more fitting?

I guess I’m a bit rusty on the cognitive development models I used to be able to readily recall...

“Honey, remember we have to be careful when using—”

“YA.

“Jessica, um... Jessica... she... she cutted herslelf”

I don’t know who Jessica is, but I’m betting I’m about to find out. In fact, the woman asks a quick follow up question to figure out whether that was something that happened at school or if this was a story the girl heard second-hand.

Silence.

“Honey, did that happen at school?”

Ahhh... shorter phrasing. Nice. And no compound structure, either—the woman’s trying to go one question at a time...

“uh huh...”

I didn’t catch the rest of their conversation. My headphones are on now and I’m looking out the window, completely lost in thought. I’ve just realized that plenty of people still do that as adults—say nothing when they don’t understand the question.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
282/365

Are you someone who asks for clarification? Or do you try to use context clues and catch yourself up?

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I did not have “hibachi chicken” or the memories tied to it on my bingo card for today.

I’m sitting on my couch eating takeout after getting home from the conference because... why not, right?

As soon as I sat down, though, the thought had crossed my mind that I might not ever be able to get up. Or rather, that I might not ever want to get up. It’s like the knots in my shoulders had just each mindlessly cracked their knuckles and decided to settle in. So I’d reached for my phone and ordered from Door Dash, too wiped out to cook. Come to think of it, there wasn’t much to cook anyway, since I’d been traveling... I have to go food shopping, but figured that was a problem for future me.

I’m exhausted.

Somewhere on I-89 during my drive back, the idea to get delivery popped into my head. I had actually been looking forward to ordering from a different place, but they were closed. So, I took a shot on something else because they were doing some kind of promo. I didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t until I opened the container that I saw the grilled chicken, veggies, and rice that my eyes widened. For some reason, I thought of a restaurant we’d go to when visiting my dad as a kid—a place I don’t know that I’ve thought about since. I don’t even remember its name; my siblings and I just always called it the “hibachi place.” It became something of a “thing” we did for special occasions, and at the same time, I don’t have particularly fond memories associated with it.

But this is sort of a special occasion, right?

I was recognized for my years of service...

By a group of people I look up to...

Surely that’s worth celebrating?

So I’m sitting up on the couch now, trying to give myself some grace after the long week I’d just wrapped up. I’m smiling thinking back on it. I really love going to that annual conference and catching up with friends. And, it’s also pretty taxing. You know, but in a good kind of way that comes with the satisfaction of a job well-done.

Ok, this food is surprisingly delicious. It’s got that smokey, grilled quality to it where the teriyaki chicken and vegetables are the good kind of charred. As I’m chewing, I start thinking back on a couple of those hibachi dinners with my family. I’m expecting to find disappointment or maybe some bitterness, but surprise myself when I don’t. Instead, I stumble upon... compassion? Even when those dinners would turn hostile, they were an attempt at celebrating someone or something. I don’t know that I’ve ever looked at it that way until just now.

Didn’t see that coming.

But I guess you never do.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
281/365

How could you celebrate yourself differently?

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It’s not often that I get stage fright.

Not anymore, anyway.

I’m standing on the conference stage today like a deer in the headlights just as I’m about to begin my closing keynote. In my head, I’m reminding myself that silence is better than filler words, and to just take my time. Everyone will benefit if I just pause and take a deep breath before I keep going. I’m scanning the audience and then the podium, my feet, and the playback screen.

I’m thrown off.

Just before I’d come on stage, I’d been awarded the Gail Elmore Volunteer Of The Year Award, which included a heartfelt intro from someone I’ve looked up to for 16 years. She teared up and couldn’t get all the way through her notes. I don’t know why I didn’t see this coming. I prepared for literally everything else besides taking the stage with tears in my eyes. That’s a first for me.

C’mon, you got this...

Just get to the story and you’re golden.

So, with my feet planted on the stage, I tell myself to just start. I make a small joke of winning the battle of keeping it together, and then I say my name and where I’m from. Now we’re rolling. Looking up, I smile at the eyes all staring back at me.

“Two things happened during my sophomore year of high school that changed my life since and landed me here” I tell them.

“Can I tell you the story?”

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
280/365

When you’re dealing with pressure, what does your inner monologue sound like?

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The expression across from me looks hurt more than frustrated.

Today I’m standing in a conference room, leaning up against a table while having a conversation with someone on my team. It’s mid-afternoon but it’s hard to tell with the fluorescent lighting. Outside, it’s hot as hell and humid enough that I’m still sweating even though the AC is blasting.

Sitting across from me, this person’s explaining that they’re frustrated. Apparently, they’d had a rather rude interaction with someone else and it’d escalated unexpectedly. Rolling their shoulders forward, I watch them exhale, stare into the ground, and slouch lower. I’m picturing the wheel of emotions and trying to trace the line between hurt and frustration. Sadness and anger come to mind, and I’m reminded of something I learned from my therapist a while back.

When she introduced me to the wheel of emotions, she explained that anger can come from letting ourselves down. I didn’t quite get it until she framed it as an indicator of our boundaries being violated. So it’s the difference between being mad at someone and being mad at yourself for not standing up to them. And while I’m leaning on that table listening to my teammate so I can try to help, I realized that relabling anger like that had been a turning point for me.

Now, I can’t help but to see anger as a red herring. A lot of the time, it turns out to be a decoy; where the thing I’m upset about has to do with how I handled something. Fixing it tends to be as simple as doing the thing I neglected to do in the first place.

Straightforward? Maybe.

Easy? No.

So, stills sweating in the conference room with the AC blasting, I ask the person across from me what would be helpful. They say they’re not sure, so I ask if I can offer a suggestion. “Yes please” they say, looking up.

“Telling them it was rude might feel validating... and even if they don’t agree, you’ll have done what it sounds like you wanted to do in the first place.”

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
279/365

Are you able to find the fuse and cut the wire when you're mad?

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I’m traveling for a conference this week and it almost ruined my daily writing streak.

This is one of those full-on type of conferences where every minute of your day is spoken for. You know, like, it’s just go-go-go from the moment you get up. So, it’d been a long day, and I’m about to head back to my room and write despite how zonked I am. It’s late, but it’s been 278 days in a row of publishing this column and I really want to keep it going.

I’m standing in the somewhat musty common-room of this college dorm in Boston—where the conference is being held—when a familiar face appears. We greet each other with a hug, and cruise through a condensed bit of small talk before seamlessly diving into a full conversation. Any pretense we might’ve had in a situation like this melts away almost instantly. That’s something that seems to happen more and more involuntarily each year.

He seems like he’s had a long day, too.

We’re friends, but also sort of colleagues? We kind of work together, which is how we became friends, but we don’t actually work together in a traditional sense. We volunteer at the same non-profit. Which is why each of us is here in this musty college dorm in Boston. We’re here to run an annual leadership seminar for high school students. So, standing there among the circular, cafe-style tables, tiled floor, and worn couches, we get to talking. He’s filling me in on his kids’ lacrosse season and what it’s been like for him to coach, and I’m thinking about how many life events and phases we’ve watched each other go through over the past 16 years. We have about 10 years between us but it’s never really seemed like it.

As I’m thinking about all of this, I’m looking at him and I’m struck by just how grateful he looks through the fatigue. He’s got this calm, somewhat tranquil smile that’s dancing while he’s talking and it’s so obvious that this guy just absolutely loves being a dad. And without realizing it, I’m shaking my head and smiling. At the same time, I’m now fully aware that I’m not going back to my room and writing...

I’m going to keep chatting with my friend I don’t get to see that often.

Because I want to hear all about this latest life chapter.

*** Eventually I did write and publish something (keeping my streak alive). However, I fumbled the email scheduling for it. So if you want to read yesterday's column, you can do so here.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
278/365

How do you think about flexibility to make space for life without compromising your goals?

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Delayed gratification is cool and it’s not that hard to pull off.

A while back, I heard Austin Kleon was releasing a new book because I subscribe to his weekly newsletter. He typically shares a collection of links to things he’s into lately with a short tidbit about them. Occasionally, he includes announcements about his own stuff. This was one such occasion.

I want to hate the pre-order pipeline that’s become a mandatory part of publishing. I really do. But, there’s one aspect of it a like a lot.

Authors write books, publishers distribute them, and each gets a cut of the profit.

Fair enough.

But, the pre-order option is a poison pill dressed as a marketing campaign. The publisher tasks the author with becoming a full-stack marketer to “create a buzz” for their book like it’s a product launch. However, if the pre-sale doesn’t generate enough confirmed interest in the form of revenue, the publisher pulls the plug so they won’t waste resources promoting something they think won’t sell.

It just seems like this doesn’t accurately reflect the quality of the book, whatsoever... right? This type of pre-sale pipeline only measures the author’s marketing savvy; which, is supposed to be the job of the publisher. That’s why they’re getting a cut of the profit. What’s more, pre-sale numbers are factored into the “first week” sale numbers that get evaluated for best-seller status.

See what I’m saying??

Anyway.

There's something I do like about the pre-sale option, and that's the baked-in delayed gratification. I bought Austin's new book, Don't Call It Art, during pre-sale because I'm a huge fan of his other work. Namely, Steal Like An Artist, Show Your Work, and Keep Going. So I wanted to support him. And, I really wanted to read his new stuff.

So I bought the book ahead of time, and then let myself forget about it, because I knew it had already been taken care of and that it would show up on my doorstep and delight my future self.

It was already worth the wait, and I haven’t read it yet.

But I’m psyched to.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
277/365

Do you pre-order books from your favorite authors? Why or why not?

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I thought it might be sore but I didn’t expect it to hurt.

I’m like four steps into my run today and I might have to turn around. I think I sprained my ankle over the weekend playing soccer and haven’t run since. I’ve just been resting, icing, elevating. With some compression and Vitamin-I mixed in (ibuprofen). The first couple days were rough. I was hobbling more than walking, and stairs were a no-go.

So this was supposed to be a test run.

Just to see how it was doing.

Well... I’m thinking “good,” not “great” so far.

Almost immediately, I have to shorten my strides—the flexion of reaching my ankle forward isn’t as bad as the heel strike that follows. Choppier steps at a slower pace make the pain go away (almost). I hadn’t anticipated this.

When we were playing soccer, I was closing in on the goal—about to take a shot—when I got body-checked from the side by a defender. I’d already planted my foot... so, with my toes pointed to the left and cleated into the grass, my entire body bent over and to the right. I heard a crunch like bubble-wrap. Not the sheets with all the small bubbles, but the kind with, like, just three big pouches.

Crack-CRACK... crack.

It was the outside of my ankle, which made lateral motion, or anything with a twist, pretty painful for a couple days. But just going for a run doesn’t need to have a whole lot of lateral movement, which is why I figured it’d be a good way to test things out.

And here we are.

I’m though the neighborhoods and onto the main road now, running toward the bike path, but it’s still early in my run. I could go back if needed, but I decide that I’ll continue because I can always turn this run into a walk. And, you know, moving it seems better than letting it stiffen up sitting around at home.

“Motion is lotion” as they say.

So I’m shuffling my way along, pounding the pavement, and thinking about the years and years of sports I played growing up where I was encouraged to “tough it out.” Playing hurt was some sort of deluded badge of honor and I got roped right into fighting for it. I played football with sprained ankles, broken wrists, torn shoulder tendons, and more concussions than even I’m willing to admit. I’ve never really been able to understand why grown men didn’t know better—why they thought that was the right lesson to model for a bunch of impressionable kids.

Yet here I am, plodding along as a grown man...

Still trying to figure out which side of this I want to be on.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
276/365

Do you soldier on, slow things down, or sit them out?

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I don’t know why I never thought of it like that.

It makes so much sense...

And, it was right there the whole time.

A few days ago, my mom and I are having lunch at my place when we got to talking about a recent essay I wrote. In it, I recalled my first day of soccer from when I was a kid and, well... how it didn’t go so good. We’re sitting in the living room and she’s across from me on the couch. She’d asked how my rec team was doing and noted the irony of me liking soccer now.

And she’s not wrong.

I’m looking at her and see her eyes go wide as she’s thinking back.

“It was just so bizarre” she said. “You were so outgoing and willing to try new things, meet new people; it just didn’t make sense.”

Sitting more upright, I cross my left ankle over my right. Mom’s shaking her head ever so slightly. She hadn’t seen that... that terror, and dread, and foreboding in me before. I’m not sure I had either. But it did show up again after that. And again, and again, and again. So, sitting in my living room, I look over at mom with a faux-serious expression and then ask in a mournful tone “remember the swim meet?”

Oh boy.

We both chortle a bit thinking about that. I never thought it’d be something I could benignly think back on. During my first (and only) season on a swim team, I joined a local YMCA. This was in elementary school. The coach had been new that season, too, and she was, um, rather uninvested. I was a good swimmer, which is sort of why I signed up, but I didn’t know the first thing about swim meets. The day of our first one, coach didn’t show up. Another coach from a different age group was apparently going to pull double-duty with their team and ours.

The air around the pool area is heavier than usual and the place packed with parents and kids. I didn’t know anyone except this one other person on my team I sort of became almost-friends with. Suddenly, people are lining up in front of certain lanes, pushing past me and squeezing between each other. I had no idea where they were going or what they were doing, so I was completely caught off guard when not-my-coach started steering me toward the water and said “ok you’re up.”

I’m up?

What??

I’m trying to figure out what’s happening and I’m asking but not getting any answers and suddenly there’s a countdown and people hush and THEY’RE OFF. Not me, though. Apparently I’m part of a relay? Which side of the lane do I swim in? How many laps? What stroke? When I hit the water I know something’s wrong. There’s not enough motion around me—where is everyone? I’m on the verge of tears, feeling completely humiliated as I swim the wrong stroke, by myself, in front of the whole fucking place.

Back in my living room with mom, we both snap out of the same memory with that far-away look fading from our faces.

“Nobody told you the format” she says.

I... wait, what?

holy shit...

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
275/365

Do you approach new situations with curiosity or do you feel like you’re expected to perform competency?

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Trying to stay in-the-loop perpetually leaves me feeling exhausted and worse off.

In this age of instant information, we can’t possibly need to keep up with this many Joneses… I mean, how plugged-in are we really supposed to be?

If I may be so bold, I think this era of digitally magnified comparison has fundamentally changed our perception of what’s normal.

No, seriously—how much are we, as humans, expected to take on these days? We are vastly more aware of the life we could have than anyone, from any other time in history, has ever been. And yet, we seem so much less likely to actually pick a lane and make any meaningful moves toward the life we realize we want. If we do, we’re pressured to pivot before we ever see the payoff, anyway.

We’ve collectively become convinced that “overcomplicated” is somehow an esteemed status symbol. It’s like, once we do start going after something, our short-term memory extracts every ounce of would-be-satisfaction from it before sending us careening back into the social media soup.

I want a slow, simple, and relatively unplugged life. But that feels like I’d basically be excommunicating myself from civilization, and from any financial security, stability, or future prospects.

And it’s that kind of polarized thinking that seems like the biggest issue here.

Why must we bury the life we’re trying to build under a mountain of hardship?

The other morning, I’m spinning through all of this as I’m walking myself around the block. I’m daring it to rain on me, caught somewhere between fuming and simmering, while trying earnestly to remind myself that harsh self-talk is decidedly unhelpful.

I’m in one of those spells right now where I feel like I’m behind on most things—you know, just like… across the board in every facet of my life. Tasks and to-dos are just piling up. Collections of shoulds, coulds, and woulds are just kind of lingering there in perpetuity, after routinely getting bumped further down the list.

It’s not even like I’m egregiously behind, either. That’s the worst part, actually. Things are not going to crash because I’ve managed them well enough.

Well enough works.

But, ironically, not all that well.

Facing unrealistic expectations.

The truth is, lately I’ve been feeling like a shitty friend. It’s partly because I owe many of them a call, text, or email back... and partly because I genuinely don’t know where to get the time.

I can parse the shit that truly needs my attention, lock in, and get it done. But it’s also why I’m frustrated right now in this sea of rising tasks, because even though I’m crossing things off of my to-do list at a rather impressive clip, I still can’t keep up. And I know I never will, but I also know that I need to pare back my proverbial life-garden if I want things to flourish and bloom.

Every time I slow the pace, it means letting go of something. And that works; things stabilize. Then, inch by inch, the pace kicks up again. And I’m at a point now where I need to assess what to cut, but I also feel like things are pretty tight and I’m running a pretty bare-bones operation as-is.

So finding stuff to get rid of feels impossible.

What gets lost in the details.

My head’s whirring with the weight of all this while I’m walking down the sidewalk. This is a neighborhood of artists, in some capacity or another, and I love it here. Quite a few of these houses have porch-swings. There’s plenty with benches, book nooks, or chairs. People actually use them, too—they’re not just for show.

These porches, they’re not gaudy like they could’ve been.

You know what I mean? They have personal touches instead of catalog uniformity and they’re covered with colors you’d never find in the Massachusetts suburbs where I grew up. Purples, yellows, reds, blues colliding into one another accompanied by stained glass, wooden sculptures, and mosaic tiles. And the gardens... they overflow with life instead of getting trimmed into tame sameness.

As I’m bopping through the surrounding neighborhoods, I’m thinking about the way I go about prioritizing things in my life. I’ve tried all the methods and strict versions of productivity dogma just aren’t for me. That stuff’s never worked in the long-term unless accompanied by a constant stream of internal reprimands to make sure I’m good and anxious about it.

When it comes to getting ahead, less is more.

The “less is more” and “addition through subtraction” stuff has worked, though; with some tweaking. My neurodivergent brain does well with a narrower focus rather than recalculating the ripple-effects of too many interconnected things. Especially when I don’t get to really find my footing or chip away at any one thing without running the risk of blowing up the rest.

That goes for working, job hunting, side-projecting, admin-ing, exercising, social life-ing… all of it.

I notice I’m shaking my head and I’m hoping I don’t look too much like someone who’s talking to himself while skirting past some people on the sidewalk with their dogs. I’m listening to a podcast, like I always do when looking to think on things and search for answers. Alex Honnold’s talking about how he was never aiming to make a ton of money with climbing and that he just wanted to climb. He said that if he just focused on getting better at climbing, without trying to monetize it, he’d become the kind of person who could climb some pretty insane stuff, and that money tends to find those folks.

So now I’m thinking about what that meant letting go of, because when I was a full-time snowboard instructor, I could feel the downgrade in my riding after just two days off. It wasn’t major, but it required some loosening up and getting back into things to be able to feel the micro-responsiveness I was used to.

While I’m walking past an overgrown garden of bleeding hearts, I’m picturing the risk of putting time toward something without covering your ass. And, yet, I get why Alex said he’d be fine if the money never came because he’d still have everything that pursuing climbing gave him.

Well shit.

After a big, huge, intentional exhale, I admit that was probably one of those things I needed to hear.

Find the stuff you don’t mind doing.

When I was in college, this upperclassman in the outing club with me became a math major because he didn’t mind doing math homework.

At the time, that didn’t make sense to me. For starters, I hated math. Ironically, math has popped up a lot in my marketing career. Go figure. Beyond that, though, I couldn’t wrap my head around spending so much of my life doing something I just sort of felt “meh” about. I wanted to live and breathe the work I did, the impact it had on people, and the life it let me live.

Well, what I wish I knew then was that while I was looking for something that would tick those boxes, that upperclassman built himself a pretty robust life once his math homework was done—dinners with friends, time outside, trips, travel, events. He created a life with predictable rhythm so he could improvise around it.

Me? I feel like I had to scramble just to survive while I kept searching.

It took a long time to learn that there’s a built-in delay with stuff like that. The payoff won’t come fast, and it might not even look like it’s coming at all. And, when you keep changing the thing you give your energy to, you’re only prolonging its potential payoff.

As I’m finishing out my walk and climbing the steps to my house, I’m thinking about how social media seems like it’s just completely distorted our expectations around how in-the-loop we’re really supposed to be. I’m feeling like that extends to how much I tell myself I’m supposed to take on in life, too.

So I tell myself it’s unrealistic.

One of these days, maybe I’ll believe it.

I let out a deep sigh, still feeling like a shitty friend who’s just let himself off the hook.

A day at a time.

Later, towards the end of the work day, I’m in my kitchen shoving some food in my face before running to the bathroom and heading back to my desk to wrap up a few more things.

Some days, that’s just how it goes. I’m already thinking about the next email I’m going to tackle as I move toward the sink. I can see the soccer fields across the street through the window and I’m watching this dad play soccer with his son. I’m guessing the kid’s maybe eight or 10 years old, tops.

It’s late afternoon and they’re the only ones out there. Dad’s taking shots on goal, in what appear to be flip flops, while his son defends. They’re in no hurry. Sometimes, I even see them out there early in the mornings before school, with a couple other kids and some dogs. They never seem to be in a hurry then, either.

A minute ago, I’d been moving fast. I’d been feeling good about all I was getting done. Now, though, I’m standing in my kitchen thinking about emails and wondering how I got so distracted from moving towards a slow, simple, and relatively unplugged life.

This… this is getting out of hand.

onward.

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If you enjoy reading my writing, I publish short reflections like this each day as part of my daily column, Kickturn.

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What I’m up to in June 2026

Since I’ve been trying to be better about sharing the process instead of just the product, here’s my latest 3x3.

1. Monthly updates:

1. Celebrated 5 years of sobriety!

2. Return of The Unobstructed Podcast.

3. Recognized as HOBY’s Volunteer of The Year.

2. Primary focus areas:

1. Connecting with folks looking for comms & enablement help.

2. Exploring voiceovers for Unobstructed essays.

3. Go mountain biking!

3. What I’m currently reading:

1. Oathbringer by Brandon Sanderson.

2. Unreasonable Hospitality by Will Guidara.

3. Chapter 10 of The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron (for the MAP Year Project)

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
274/365

What does your 3x3 look like?

onward.

For more on this daily column and The MAP Year Project, read the backstory.

Sign up to get it here.

I’ve been feeling like a shitty friend lately.

I’m walking myself around the block this morning, daring it to rain on me, and I’m trying earnestly to remind myself that piling on with harsh self-talk is decidedly unhelpful. I’m only somewhat successful. You know, at least, for a few steps, anyway.

But I owe a lot of people a call back, text, or an email reply...

I’m walking down the sidewalk, eyes flitting between the many stylistic front porches in this neighborhood. Quite a few of them have porch-swings. There’s plenty with benches, book nooks, or chairs. People use them, too—these aren’t just for show. Granted, it’s like 7am and things are pretty empty but, come early evening when the sun hits, they come to life. These porches, they’re not gaudy like they could’ve been. They have personal touches instead of catalog uniformity and are awash with colors you’d never find in the Massachusetts suburbs where I grew up. Purples, yellows, reds, blues colliding into one another accompanied by stained glass, wooden sculptures, and mosaic tiles. And the gardens... they overflow with life instead of getting trimmed into tame sameness.

This is a neighborhood of artists, in some capacity or another, and I love it here.

This walk’s brightening my mood and I sigh out of satisfaction rather than dismay, which is nice. I’m in one of those spells right now where I feel like I’m behind on most things, almost across the board in every facet of my life. Yes, I have tasks piling up; and many more are just lingering on my to-do list after routinely getting bumped. But it’s not like I’m egregiously behind, either. That’s the worst part, actually. Things are not going to crash because I’ve managed them well enough.

Well enough works.

But, ironically, not well.

I can parse the shit that truly needs my attention, lock in, and get it done. But it’s also why I’m frustrated right now in this sea of rising tasks, because even though I’m crossing things off of my to-do list at a rather impressive clip, I still can’t keep up. And I know I never will, but I also know that I need to pare back my proverbial life-garden if I want things to flourish and bloom.

Every time I slow the pace, it means letting go of something. And it works; things stabilize. Then, inch by inch, the pace kicks up again. I’m at a point where I need to assess what to cut, but I also feel like things are pretty tight and I’m cultivating a bare-bones life-garden as is. So finding stuff to get rid of feels impossible.

Recently, I was reminded of the Dunbar number as a way of describing bandwidth and it’s been on my mind kind of a lot since. In the 1990s, Robin Dunbar introduced a theory recognizing a limit to the number of people that we humans can maintain stable, social relationships with. It tops out around 150, which is still too many for me. So, as I’m finishing out my walk and climbing the steps to my house, I’m thinking about how social media seems like it’s just completely distorted our expectations around how in-the-loop we’re really supposed to be... and I’m feeling like that extends to how much I tell myself I’m supposed to take on in life, too. It’s completely unrealistic.

So I tell myself so.

One of these days, maybe I’ll believe it.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
273/365

What do you do when you see the tipping point approaching?

onward.

For more on this daily column and The MAP Year Project, read the backstory.

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Today, I’m celebrating 5 years of sobriety.

I’m sitting on my sun porch with the windows open in a hoodie and shorts, savoring the breeze. The trees around me at eye-level seem almost overgrown, but in the best way possible. They’re not unkempt, unsightly, or haggard. Not even close, actually. They’re full, brimming with luscious greens and yellows. The wind’s lolling through and the leaves are spry enough to dance when called upon without making a scene.

I’m looking around and I realize I’ve never really observed them this closely. It kind of feels like they filled in overnight, but they’ve been standing guard like that ever since I moved in. And, the more I slow down to pay attention, the more I can hear the life bursting from them with each subtle ruffle. These trees have known storms—long, callous winters and sopping springs, and summers that swelter. Yet, they stand firm; sturdy and unencumbered. Season after season, they keep growing.

Aware of my own staring, I draw a long inhale of my own and lean back into the bench cushions. The afternoon sun’s beaming. In many ways, today’s a pretty big milestone for me. At the same time, it feels like just another day.

Maybe that’s the whole point.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
272/365

When’s the last time you really looked at just how much you’ve changed?

onward.

For more on this daily column and The MAP Year Project, read the backstory.

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It’s nearing the end of the work day and I’m in my kitchen.

I’m shoving some food in my face before running to the bathroom and heading back to my desk to wrap up a few more things. Some days, that’s just how it goes. I’ve historically had a habit of taking on too much and trying to squeeze too much in, which I’m working on. I’m so much better than I used to be; like SO much. Still, I’m very aware that my current scarf-n-scoot afternoon snack scramble isn’t ideal.

I’m already thinking about the next email I’m going to tackle as I’m moving toward the sink. I like the layout of my kitchen. Particularly, I like the window above my sink. I’m a few houses in on the block, so this window just happens to be perfectly positioned in such a way that I can see between a few houses and through to the soccer fields across the street.

A minute ago, I’d been moving fast.

It hadn’t felt frantic, either. It was more like a flow of getting shit done.

Now, though, I’m standing at the sink and watching this dad play soccer with his son. I’m guessing the kid’s maybe eight or 10 years old, tops. It’s Friday afternoon and they’re the only ones out there. Dad’s taking shots on goal, in what appear to be flip flops, while his son defends. They’re in no hurry. Sometimes, I even see them out there early in the mornings before school, with a couple other kids and some dogs. They never seem to be in a hurry then, either.

I’d been moving fast, feeling good about all I was getting done.

Now, though, I’m still standing in my kitchen wondering why.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
271/365

When's the last time something made you down-shift without even realizing you'd been in high-gear?

onward.

For more on this daily column and The MAP Year Project, read the backstory.

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Thinking about my thinking is something I’ve done since I was little. Plenty of us do, to some extent, and it’s unfortunately easy for that to keep us from showing up and sharing ourselves fully. We are the stories we tell ourselves, after all... So, throughout the month of May, we uncovered a bunch of ways of reframing those stories and surfacing ways to feel less stuck.

If you missed it, here's April's recap.

What’s happening?

May 2026 edition:

1. Return of the pod.

2. The latest from Unobstructed.

3. Friendly reminder: composure ≠ currency.

1. Return of the pod.

Caleb and I have been having a blast working on new episodes of The Unobstructed Podcast. We’ve got some fun ones coming up this month, including guest appearances that we’re downright stoked about.

Here’s a quick teaser.

2. The latest from Unobstructed.

From Kickturn, a daily column on pivots and new perspectives:

“With No Ulterior Motive”

Being the last person standing is not the only strategy for becoming successful, but it certainly has a high hit-rate.

Keep reading.

///

From Unobstructed Weekly, the flagship column on finding clarity:

“Retracing Your Steps In The Alpenglow”

There’s a gap between what we notice and what we share, and I never felt like I was very good at sharing in ways that other people understood.

Maybe I played too much Mario Party as a kid, but I always thought about it like trying to find a trap-door. I’ve spent the better part of 15 years mulling that over while watching sunsets by this lake.

And I finally found a trap-door.

Keep reading.

///

From Breaking Trail, a monthly column on trying new things:

“Comfort In Consistency”

The two hardest things I’ve done so far in this life were both lessons in consistency:

1. Thru-hiking

2. Parenting.

They are also strikingly similar.

Keep reading.

Even more to explore:

3. Friendly reminder: composure ≠ currency.

My episode of Stories From The Stage recently aired on national TV!

I told the story of a lesson I learned from my grandfather about keeping your composure, and was totally unprepared for how much it would resonate with people.

Showing up and sharing yourself can be scary, especially when you’re worried about pushing through that fear and ending up feeling misunderstood. But... if you don’t show up at all, you’ll end up feeling misunderstood anyway.

So, you might as well try.

Besides, what if it all works out?

onward.

Subscribe now

Ever heard of the meditation app Headspace?

No? How about their competitor, Calm?

Well, I’m a paying subscriber to Headspace. And after working in the brand marketing world for years, I constantly find myself looking at things like websites, commercials, or ad campaigns and thinking about why they did it that way.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about that kind of stuff for Headspace.

Like today. I’m getting myself moving this morning and I realize I almost forgot to meditate. Which feels silly because it’s just part of my morning routine. But I’m someone who really needs reminders I can see or it’s like my brain forgets it was ever a thing. That’s why I put my running shoes in front of my door. Otherwise, I’m pretty sure I’d never run. But today I almost forgot to meditate, and so I start thinking about the Headspace brand as I go to open the app. I’ve already been sort of wondering about what they might be going for with some of their recent emails. They kind of just feel... generic. Which is a bummer because I really like Headspace. So I’m curious now and I actually go and pull up their website. I’m looking at the layout and messaging, then the navigation, buttons, and links. And... my mind takes off and starts running through the ways I’d go about tweaking stuff.

In my opinion, Headspace has a superior product to others on the market. And, sure, it’s entirely possible I’m biased and/or I like an underdog. They have strong branding and consistent messaging that makes them recognizable. I don’t know for sure what’s going on behind closed doors, but I’d guess their biggest issue isn’t that they lack brand appeal, but that consumers don’t realize the benefit they’d get until after they’ve already bought-in and become users.

I’m looking at the screen and smirking as I realize, sometimes, I kind of feel like people aren’t sold on liking me until after they get to know me, too.

Perhaps Headspace and I share a similar struggle of gatekeeping our value.

Anyway, this is where most folks I’ve worked with would jump in and suggest they create a demo or a free trial to generate more interest. Maybe that’s because we all grew up experiencing show-and-tell in school as a way of explaining why we should care about something. I haven’t seen that work a whole lot, though, because people need to understand why something would be worth paying attention to in the first place. Otherwise, they won’t feel all that strongly about trying it. So I’m thinking about ways I’d make it more appealing to people, without fucking with their branding, and here’s what I’m seeing: expand access by providing additional entry points, instead of only pointing to the app.

What I’m thinking they should do is make it possible to opt-in to email subscriptions where folks could click straight to the next course module. Creating the option for users to subscribe to courses via email extends the surface area of their library. I’m imagining that seemingly innocuous feature would dramatically increase utilization of their app, because it changes the story you can tell about the product from something where people have to think of the app first and then go use it, to something where people self-select their reminders and get prompted to continue.

I want it right in front of my face, please.

Otherwise I’ll forget.

And I’ll keep going down this rabbit hole instead of meditating.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
270/365

What’s your thing that you can’t help but notice when moving about the world?

onward.

For more on this daily column and The MAP Year Project, read the backstory.

Sign up to get it here.

Being the last person standing is not the only strategy for becoming successful, but it certainly has a high hit-rate.

I’m running through the surrounding neighborhoods today and this came up on the podcast I was listening to. It’s hot and muggy, but I think it’s late enough in the day that we’re past the worst of it.

I’m that weirdo who will listen to the same guest’s appearance on multiple different podcasts. Usually, within short proximity to each other, too. Quirky, sure, but it’s to see what they do differently. I’ve been doing this little experiment for something like 10 years now, and I’ve learned a TON from it. I find it completely fascinating. And, it’s a study of the interviewer as much as the guest. Between the questions they ask and the way their disposition impacts the person throughout the conversation, the topics discussed can vary quite dramatically.

A while back I wrote about listening to Alex Honnold on The Rich Roll Podcast after he free-soloed the Taipei 101 tower live on Netflix. Today, I listened to one he did with Steven Bartlett on The Diary Of A CEO. They’re both long-form multi-hour interviews.

But they were completely different.

I love it when that happens.

Podcasts have sort of become the new Late Night in the sense that when people have something to promote, they go on a “podcast tour” instead of a traditional press tour. Sometimes, people give the same rehearsed soundbites or tell go-to story from their arsenal. More often than not, though, they just show up and share what they really think. As someone who produces and hosts a long-form podcast, I can tell you firsthand that knowing it’ll be edited is a mental relief. It frees things up and helps you speak more naturally. At least it does for me. And the magic of that usually creates a conversation that doesn’t have to be edited all that much. Good hosts can pull that off really well, and I’m always looking to improve.

Anyway.

I’m skirting past people walking their dogs on the sidewalk while fighting a particularly nasty cramp. I never cramp. Well, I guess not never. But hardly ever. So I’m thinking this is kind of weird, but then realize it probably makes sense given the heat. I realize I’m dehydrated. And just a bit distracted.

But then Alex snags my attention through my earbuds when he says he was never aiming to make a ton of money. Not at first, anyway. He said that he just wanted to climb. So that’s what he’s been doing, five days a week, for the past thirty years. He even spent a decade of that living out of a van in his twenties on just a few hundred dollars a month before realizing he might be onto something.

If he just kept climbing... that made him a climber. And if he just focused on getting better at climbing, and not trying to monetize it, he’d become the kind of person who could climb some pretty insane stuff, with no ulterior motive. Basically, he said that he realized that the money tends to find people who can climb really insane stuff anyway.

Well shit.

I’m not running anymore, but I’m not home yet either. I’m stretching because I’m worried this cramp might actually be killing me. With a big, huge, intentional exhale, I admit that was one of those things I needed to hear. And I think it that showed up right when I needed to hear it, too.

It’s not something he talked about on the other podcast I listened to of his... so my own strategy’s working as designed.

Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
269/365

What are you willing to be the last person standing for?

onward.

For more on this daily column and The MAP Year Project, read the backstory.

Sign up to get it here.