I’m in Indiana this week. My time of being a nomad is well underway. It’s cloudy and muggy out. The heat grasps at the moisture in the air. It’s oppressive. Not quite as dreadful as DC in the summer. But pretty close. Even the squirrels and chipmunks have stilled their play to allow the afternoon heat to drag on.
Soon, I imagine, they will resume their scurrying and gathering, or whatever it is that my friends do during the heat of the summer. My ex-wife’s backyard is filled with animals. I usually spend my days at the dining room table with an unobstructed view of the backyard. When animals make their way onto the deck (which happens fairly often) I call them my friends.
So, with my friends scampering about, I suppose that the only idle one around here is me. My son has resumed school. His family here has resumed their work routines. My girlfriend in CO remains busy doing attorney things while maintaining her home for her kids. My family in OK are all, well, doing okay! Work, School, and Church seem to run the days there.
The Sentinel.
As I thought about the constant motion, it occurred to me that I felt a bit like the tree in the backyard. I call him The Sentinel. A fine specimen of a sugar maple, he stands athwart the chaos of days and looks calmly on. His stately branches reach out and provide shade and shelter as the world passes by. It could be said that he stands idle. But, at risk of being overly animistic, I don’t think he does. I think there’s a wisdom to watching and learning before acting. At least that’s what I think he does, and what I hope I’m doing.
At any rate, what made today especially interesting was that a mourning dove joined me on the deck this afternoon. He was a handsome fella. He seemed rather content to join me and sit on the deck while we awaited the afternoon thunderstorm. As the humidity rose, I began to wonder where he would go should it truly start to rain.
It prompted me to learn a bit more about mourning doves. I read that female mourning doves sit on their nests from late afternoon throughout the night. So, I figured that this mourning dove, who was decidedly nowhere near a nest, was a male. For all I know, he had just finished the morning shift of nest sitting and was cooling his heels until the storm arrived or passed. I’d say, he was here at least 20 minutes.
In considering his stay, my mind began to wander, and I grew concerned for him. I hoped that he wasn’t injured.
But isn’t that rich! He was doing what I was doing. Together, between me, the bird, and the tree, we were all idling and whiling away the afternoon. There was nothing wrong with me. The tree seemed fine. Yet, I immediately wondered whether there was something wrong with the bird.
It wasn’t a flash of insight, but it struck me that maybe a guy just needs a damn break from time to time. And while it’s not popular in our culture and economy to take breaks (Gasp! Resume gaps!), maybe taking a break is okay.
Because, come 6AM tomorrow, I reckon we’ll both be up, taking care of the kids, and doing all the things, all over again.
I learned a lot today. I’m glad my friend stopped by.
I remember that night well. We were hurtling down the airport corridor trying to catch our flight. The hop from Indy to Dallas wasn’t a long one, but the window was a bit tight, connecting from Dallas to our home airport in Lawton, OK. The start of the summer was underway and it seemed we had nothing but leisure ahead of us.
And we did. I just didn’t account for the blinks.
The blinks. I’ve used the phrase far too much over the years, yet it’s the simplest expression for how quickly time can pass. In a blink our tribe’s Homecoming Celebration was over. Another blink and our summer side-trip west was done. In one final blink, the Summer of 2026 will be in the books as well.
I have my son for the summer each year. But at the end, my son goes back to Indiana. He leaves on Sunday. We are doing a family pizza night here at the house in a few. But this will probably be the last hurrah before the summer ends. I’m aware of time passing, but each year the summer seems to go by more quickly. It’s like a new summer brings with it a faster clock, along with a myriad of differences from the last that allows time to slip by undetected.
But in truth, this summer has passed like many others. The Oklahoma humidity from the early summer rains yields to the broiling temperatures of late July and August. First comes the pow-wow in mid-July. Vacation Bible School at church follows. Not that we participate. Screaming kids, heat, and music are all in the top five of the things my autistic son hates, so attending is really a non-starter. With those all done, all that remains of this summer is the day the kids dread – the resumption of school.
On this account, my son goes back next Wednesday (8/5). We have meetings with the school on 8/3 per usual – this is the meeting where they tell us all of his deficiencies and how they’ll plan to bear the burden of his presence. This will be followed by my son’s appointment with a developmental pediatrician on 8/4 to help us learn more about his outbursts, diagnosis and how to deal with them (hopefully). I plan to be in Indiana with him for the first three days of back-to-school and for the first full week of class.
But with all of the things coming to a close, it’s strange to think back on where the time went. I was only unavailable for a couple of days due to speaking engagements back in mid-June. We spent a Dallas weekend with my girlfriend and took a trip to CO to see her for a week. But the rest of it’s a blur. The reality is that I was home with my son for most of the summer and we really didn’t see anyone. I think that’s how summer usually goes around here. We skulk to our houses to escape the heat. In the process, the summer winds down as we sit in the AC unawares.
In retrospect, I must have backed out of our driveway 100s of times. Driven the same roads. Gone to the same places. And all of the local fare must have been substantially similar to last summer.
Except that this summer my son sounds more like me than the little boy he was last year. He’s taller than me too. Somewhere in those 100s of repetitions he grew up and became a man. Well, a little man. But he’s more man now than boy. I was there for all of it. But I don’t know when it happened.
I think that’s just how life goes. The last egg. The last prayer at night. The last bedtime story. Even if you’re intentional about soaking them all in, the moments will still pass too quickly. They all disappear in a damn blink.
It’s been a minute. Half a year nearly. My plan coming into 2026 was to write more – and I have to an extent. Just not here. My journal is full. I’ve also unexpectedly written job applications and cover letters aplenty. But this space has surely been neglected.
I think like many people who started blogging around the early aughts, the point was simply to share what was on the mind – whether it be about politics, faith or just what happened during the day. There was no rhyme or reason to any of it. I remember an embarrassing amount of two paragraph posts about nothing at all in the early days of Pax Plena. I also posted way more than I should have about politics (a quaint bygone era compared to the rough and tumble dissension we seem to have in the public conversation today). I even managed to continue posting through law school, my doctoral work and the early days of my academic career.
Then things just gradually went off the rails. I started to self-censor. I was careful to the point of being paranoid about sharing thoughts or content related to my field. I felt the need to keep up a certain facade regarding my personal life. Eventually, all of the things that make a person interesting were out of bounds at least in terms of sharing and my own writing.
Today, that notion of blogging is almost completely gone. There are TONS of platforms for sharing content. Pictures. Music. Videos. Memes. Things that are silly. Things that are sad. Sites for personal interests abound – fishing, gaming. watches, fountain pens, sports are a few personal favorites. There are also multiple sites for accessing content. It really doesn’t matter – if there is an interest in the content, whatever the stripe, it can be found in abundance.
Which makes my whole exercise here at Pax Plena ripe for a revisit.
Now that I lack institutional affiliation, I find myself wondering about the kind of content that I’d like to share. I wonder what folks would find interesting. I don’t feel the same shackles constraining me any longer. It’s almost like I can write about and say whatever I want again. It’s exciting but also strange. I suppose liberty can be that way.
Most of my friends and colleagues don’t have this luxury. I know that some former colleagues do not write freely because professional obligations require them to self-censor. The first amendment may be alive and well as we approach America’s 250th Anniversary. But both the public and private sectors have a way of stifling speech that is far more nefarious than a lot of us think about. In the public sector, otherwise interesting writers are constrained to share or “publish” only the content that their bosses approve. If you are a federal worker, the authority of the President to fire simply doesn’t cut in your favor. In the private sector, thanks to the bastardization of at will employment, may workers find their speech rights limited by company policy, lest they find themselves axed for expressing an opinion that isn’t company friendly. It’s enough to make one wonder if the first amendment right to free speech is worth it. And for many it’s easier to self-censor rather than take the risk. Democracy truly does seem to die by a thousand cuts.
So, I think it’s fair to say that I need to pause a bit and think more about what kind of content I’d like to share now that I have the luxury of freedom. I also need to think about what my stamina and pace of life will find manageable. I think I’m up for regular posts. A weekly essay would be interesting and doable – though it’s admittedly not very frequent. But I also don’t want to write just to write. So, I wonder what kind of value I can add to any reader’s life by my scribblings. The old adage is to write about what you know. These days, parenting and fatherhood, faith, doubt, job transitions, and relationships are all at the forefront of my mind. Maybe it’s just the general ennui of one’s mid-40s that keeps my focus so narrow. But it’s also good manners to stay in one’s lane so to speak. Lot’s to think about.
For now, it’s Fourth of July Eve here in the USA. My nephew’s birthday will kickoff soon. He turns 12 this year. Hard to imagine really. It’s a funny thing with these kiddos: the time seems to pass so quickly.
I can recall being 13 and the summers seemed endless. Back then I could while away an afternoon inside my grandparents’ house, parked in front of the AC reading the latest volume I’d slipped from the Library in town. Grandma would fix us lunch. There was the hope of fishing in the late afternoon still to come. The future then seemed so bright and exciting. There were no worries. No debts to pay. No utilities to cover or careers to maintain. No people to please. I had an unshakable, blind faith and confidence in the world and the people around me. I knew that they would take care of me and that all would be well.
It never entered into my mind (not with any sort of fulsome reckoning), that one day, the people I love and trusted, the real grown ups in my life, would no longer be around.
Seven years ago on July 4th, 2019, we all popped fireworks out at my Grandpa’s house. We did the same on July 6th at a relative’s place. I had no idea that less than a month later my Grandpa would be gone; that seven years later, Grandpa, the dogs in the picture, and even my relative’s partner – and a whole host of others – would all be gone. Such things do not really cross the mind of a grown man, not really. Let alone the mind of a child.
This year, the Nation is 250 years old. I’m 43. My son is 13. And it feels like the entire world has changed.
Summers, now, seem so quick. The future seems dark – like the best of days are all behind us. I find that I trust people less. And it’s a sad, thing to trust others less, particularly when I know how garbage of a person I am.
On this 250th Anniversary of America, I feel most for the kiddos. It’s like the current generation of kids got all of the fake adults. I think that most of us Millennials really know don’t know how to adult. We all just woke up one day, and all of a sudden we found ourselves here with kids, jobs, relationships, regrets and none of the fun we were having back when we were 13. It’s not true but the whole thing doesn’t seem fair. Some days it doesn’t even seem real. Life is but a dream. It feels like maybe one day we will wake up and none of this will have happened. The world won’t be so chaotic. Mistakes won’t have been made. We won’t have elected a crazy orange dictator to leader our country. And I’ll be young, safe and happy once again.
Maybe in the distance, my Grandpa will be lighting fireworks while the dogs trot behind him ready to sit back down when the nonsense is over.
I’ve been thinking a lot about time lately. For all of my travels and nomadic lifestyle, more often than not, I wonder whether I’ve placed myself in the position of NOT showing up and being present for those I love and care about.
I live in Oklahoma. My son lives in Indiana. My family lives in Oklahoma. My girlfriend lives in Colorado. And my place of employment is based in Arizona- though much of my erstwhile work was mostly national and international in scope. Suffice it to say, it’s a lot to juggle and I live out of suitcases and backpacks more often than I’d like. A part of me longs for a place to call home.
Like many of you, I’ve done this for nearly a decade.
I heard a hymn long ago with a verse that says, “Time is now fleeting the moments are passing. Passing for you and for me.” That’s true. Every moment not spent in one place is spent in another. And once you string together enough moments, time passes by.
Time these days seems less about travel and more about presence.
In my life, I’ve often felt that life was such a hurry. A hurry to achieve – whether it be financial, career, or educational success. But I am learning, slowly, that the rush causes one to miss out on the things that are actually worth enjoying. As an old country music song put it, “I rush and rush until life’s no fun…but I’m in a hurry and don’t know why.”
And I wonder, what would be the harm in slowing down? To savor moments. To enjoy the journey as the Zen among us might suggest. Yet, this seems to be, among many things, one of the things I can’t seem to do. Rushing is second nature. On to the next thing, no matter how much I might try to savor the moment. At any given point, there are a million other moments competing for my attention, and I can’t for the life of me sort out why.
The reality is that none of my rushing matters. Clarity will come. Resolution will come. Satisfaction will come. Things will sort themselves out one way or another. All I can do is keep moving and wait.
The problem of time is that it moves so slowly when one would that it were fast. And it moves so quickly when one would that it were slow. If I were to rely upon the caprice of time, the result would be a perpetual state of malcontent – which, the years have taught me, is no way to live.
In this season of life, I feel that the best way to navigate the past and the road ahead is to slow down. I’ve rushed for so long and ventured so far from my moorings that it’s actually quite useful to take stock and see where my values lie.
The reality is that we don’t get a “do-over” in the life. It’s only one shot. And we have to make it count.
I’m usually garbage at keeping New Year’s resolutions. I make them. Forget them. Vaguely recall them in early February. Make a half-assed effort to revive them. And by Valentine’s Day or so, I’ve completely given up. “New Year, New Me” lasts roughly six weeks.
And then I’m stuck with old me. Same habits. Fairly similar routine. A bit disappointed that the holiday season is all over with so long to go until it comes ‘round again. So, rather than go through the whole ordeal of creating a resolution and ditching it from start to finish, I’ve decided to do something this year that might actually be achievable. I’ve decided to adopt one simple philosophy to guide my decision making: this year, I choose joy.
To put a finer point on it, there are a million decisions each year, each day even. Some of them are real dilemmas. Some of them are just options to avoid responding in anger or disdain. Others are opportunities to avoid annoyance and focus on the positive. Whatever the situation, my goal is to choose the option that will bring joy into my life.
In point of fact, I think joy is something I’ve long underrated. I slipped into a habit over the years of putting joy on hold. I defer joy until later and hope that it works out. I put off the things that make me feel alive and promise myself that I’ll get around to them at some point. Practicality over passion. I focus on the negative or allow annoyance to creep in, and ignore a response that might actually allow for joy.
In short, I ignore joy when it’s easy, and that makes it much more difficult to come back around to it when it becomes a choice that’s hard. But life is full of tough choices. So, why not opt for those that add joy to my life, rather than subtracting joy from it?
I get that it’s a rhetorical question I’m asking myself at this point. Yet, it’s taken years to arrive at this conclusion. So, I count it progress. And what can we hope to achieve in a year if not progress?
So, welcome 2025. I have zero control over what you will bring. Good or bad. But I can control how I respond to all of the things. And this year, I choose joy.
Pax Plena 