Pax Plena

Tag: Meaning

  • 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.

  • The Last Duck on the Pond

    It was a chilly morning, about 19 degrees, when I did my walk. I had to wear a coat and a stocking cap. But it’s a walk I’ve taken many times and in much colder, more inclement weather. In order to take the air, I usually walk from the nearby gas station – which serves a superb breakfast sandwich – back to the house here in the neighborhood.

    On my walks, I typically encounter a number of furry and feathered friends. I’ve said hello to the occasional bald eagle. To chonky prairie dogs who scream at one another to herald my arrival. And to flocks of geese headed south for the winter. I’ve even seen the odd raft of ducks, swimming in the artificial pond, keeping their heads low to steer clear of the geese.

    On this cold morning, there were no geese, and only the fattest of prairie dogs were scurrying about. I saw a couple of intrepid joggers of the human variety. But, in all, the faded morning sun and the arctic blast seemed to keep most folks indoors. It was strange being one of the few people out and about when there is normally so much life bustling all around. And especially strange given that I would typically rather be in a warm bed on a cold morning than out for a walk. But fate sometimes has strange trips in store for us.

    After scarfing down my breakfast sandwich, I made my walk home against a brisk wind. I went to college in New Hampshire and did a post-doc in Wyoming, so the cold is something I feel somewhat accustomed to. But this seemed to be the type of cold that numbs the bones and then the soul, in short order. I could feel my teeth chattering. I’m not entirely sure if I still had hands. But it was, nevertheless, eminently the type of walk that was well-suited for reflection. Naturally, some life disappointments had been playing in my mind and I was a bit lost in my thoughts.

    I didn’t even realize that I had ambled up alongside the water. It was only when I chanced to look up that I noticed the last duck on the pond. He didn’t seem especially concerned about being alone. Rather, he seemed to accept his lot: a lone drake swimming out from the reeds. I didn’t see a hen nearby but she could have been tucked away. Regardless, he seemed content and paddled out toward the center of the pond.

    He gave no look toward me. To him, I could well have been one of the joggers I passed earlier and gave no heed. Yet he paddled on, seemingly impervious or oblivious to the cold. It was a bit disconcerting to watch him, hell bent on whatever mission he was on in perfect ignorance of whatever was going on in the human world around him.

    I found his situation envious.

    One problem of modernity is that we humans tend to care about too much. I mentioned in my last post that we worry about the past, present, and future. And then we worry about every conceivable permutation associated with each. With each permutation, we invite an inordinate amount of stress into our lives that we are neither able to mitigate, nor address. It all makes for a rather unfortunate state of affairs. But what I learned from my indifferent, feathered friend is that sometimes simply accepting the state of things as they are is as fine a conclusion as any.

    After a quick snap, I walked on home and took stock of my worries. Many of them were not things that I could sort out at the time. Many of them were not things that I have sorted out since. But the picture above reminds me that, on occasion, the best course is merely to accept the circumstances and paddle on.

  • The Old Sentry

    The backyard is my project for the day. There are four or five large trees in total, but they provide a fine canopy over the whole area. Every morning, I am greeted by squirrels zipping across the yard, scurrying up the trees. They mischievously chase each other from limb to limb and across the power lines, nuts in tow.

    A couple of brave chipmunks have even chanced to come upon the deck to grab some of the Biscoffs that I had set out for them. Meanwhile, the birds of the air flit back and forth among the canopy branches and the woodpeckers tap in vain against the synthetic siding of the house. My chipmunk friends look on in bemusement. I can also rely on a family of cardinals and a family of blue jays to make their appearances. This is, perhaps, the only time that red and blue can get along, pecking amongst the grass for provisions.

    At the center of it all, a giant silver maple stands sentry in the middle of the yard – a massive tree that has seen more life than I ever will, and has probably done more good than I ever will too. His branches reach 50 feet into the sky with ease, providing a playground to the chipmunks, and the squirrels, and the birds.

    How interesting that a living, but non-sentient being like a tree can serve so many of its denizens simply by existing. And yet we humans go to such great lengths in pursuit of whatever vanities that strike our fancy only to find that they are less fulfilling than if we had simply carried out our purpose and passively existed like the Sentry.

    Today I will cut the grass, carefully avoiding the roots and briars about the yard. And the Sentry will stand guard over my efforts. One day, I will be no more, and will leave him to look over the folly of someone else.