Pax Plena

Tag: Living

  • The Calendar

    My Son’s summer reading calendar.

    My life is run by a calendar that I do not control. Yet, it’s also one that I cannot resist. I think for many fathers out there, shared custody is a lot like this. We navigate and plan often from across multiple states. We hope that between all of the planning and coordinating, the presence we manage to win in our kids lives will somehow be enough. Whether or not we are successful is left to the onward march of time.

    At any rate, my son lives in Indiana. I reside in Oklahoma. It’s been this way for the past few years. He comes down for the summers and for two months we kick back here and enjoy our time together. I like to plan a side trip for us during this time. We participate, albeit somewhat limitedly, in our tribe’s summer, ceremonial celebrations. We also participate limitedly in the activities of our church. We try to pack in as much time with my family as we can before our time is up.

    But the calendar is always there, lurking in the background, reminding me that I’m on the clock, and that I need to pull together as many good memories as I can. It’s a constant exercise in planning, negotiation, fiscal management, and time management. It sounds like a lot, but really this is just an annual exercise for us.

    After my son goes back to school, the fall will roll around and I’ll see him again on his birthday, and for Halloween in October. I’ll have him again for Christmas. We’ll sort out a spring break visit. And then the summer will be here again and the process will start all over.

    So, while there is much I cannot control, my job as Dad is to make damn sure that I show up, try to create the best memories possible, and bide my time until we can enjoy a brief respite once again during the dog days of summer.

    But the funny thing is, I’ve never really liked summer.

    I melt in humidity and bake in the heat. Being outside in July/August might as well be my own personal hell. I’m not sure when I developed such an aversion to heat-induced discomfort. Somewhere between living in Wyoming, Arizona, Indiana and Oklahoma over these past ten years, my constitution has decided it simply isn’t cut out for the heat. It’s a most inconvenient conclusion. These days, I would much rather hunker down in cold air conditioning, than traipse about in the 90-100 degree weather. My body tells me this constantly. Yesterday, I carried hot pizza boxes into the house and got a heat rash up and down my arms. I think it’s the heat. Maybe it’s eczema? Who knows?

    Whatever it is, I’ve learned over the past few years that the calendar controlling my life really isn’t about me. It’s all about my son. The calendar is just the outward manifestation of love in action. I love him, so I make it work.

    The result is that my life is mostly nomadic. I spend time with my girlfriend in Colorado. I carve out the time to be with my son. I juggle the relationships with my family here in Oklahoma. And I cope with the environs, wherever I am, as best I can. I actually feel most at home right here, sitting at my desk. Iced coffee in hand. Yet, I’m rarely here.

    I suppose all our lives are controlled by external forces. Yet, I like to think that my calendar is an act of love. I know that love, the real kind, requires sacrifice. I know this because the people in my life that love me have had to sacrifice on my behalf too.

    It doesn’t make things easier knowing this. But on the days when the heat raises welts on the arms, and the sad day of my son’s departure is at hand, it helps to remember that love, even at a distance, is always worth it.

  • The Blinks

    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.

  • Endless Summers

    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.

  • Choosing Joy in 2025

    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.

  • Christmas & Time

    I always feel a bit wistful once Christmas has passed. In the weeks leading up to the big day, I listen to Christmas music on repeat, make sure that the tree is decorated, and tend to the odds and ends of decorating the house to make sure that it’s appropriately festive – in addition to braving the crowds and finding the last minute gift that has invariably slipped my mind.

    This year was no exception. I picked my son up from Indiana just a few days before the holiday. My girlfriend spent Christmas with our family for the first time. And the new place I’ve rented was bustling with activity and family more so than it ever has been. So, there were a lot of firsts this holiday. And in the rush to pull off the big event, I found it difficult to remain present and soak up the memories that were being made amid the chaos.

    But that’s the funny thing about time. There’s no pause button. And time doesn’t care whether we were able to soak up the moments or not. Try though I might, I can’t grasp the sands of time and put them back atop the hour glass. They fall with a constant flow and the best we can do is appreciate the seconds as trickle away.

    I suppose this is true of life more broadly. When I think about Christmas a year ago, I had no idea what the new year had in store. I came to OK from Indiana, rather than living here. And my girlfriend who joined us for the holiday, I didn’t know she existed. I suppose it’s true that I could have grasped at the sand but I wouldn’t have been able to appreciate all of the good that was still to come. So, while it’s not possible to hit pause on time, one wonders if it’s even worth the bother.

    We simply don’t know what tomorrow holds. Trying to hang on to what has passed hinders our ability to embrace the future. So, I guess that while I’m still a bit wistful that Christmas 2024 has come and gone, I can’t help but be hopeful for all that lies ahead. As this year draws to a close, and a new chapter begins, it seems appropriate to sup some coffee, and smile for all of the memories we made.

    And to keep a hope for all that is yet to come.