It’s the last week of summer. Technically, there’s next week. But my alone time with my son lasts through the end of this week (7/20 – 7/24). Soon, his Mom will come down and get him. School back in Indiana will start the first week of August. Then, summer 2026 will be a wrap.
It’s a funny thing how time works in a kid’s mind. All summer long I’ve been hounding him to put away his clothes. Pick up his toys. Throw away trash. And pick up his shoes. You’d think after two months of hounding that the message would sink in. But I walked by the shoe area just now and saw these in the middle of the floor – a fact notable only in that this is NOT where shoes belong. I reckon a couple of months is just a blink to a kid, no matter how we adults might think otherwise.
It’s true that my son really isn’t a kid anymore. My son is now a fully-fledged member of the teenagers’ cohort. His ASD diagnosis notwithstanding, I don’t think there are many teens lurking about who have mastered the art of picking up after themselves. He may not run the tidiest of ships, but if my nephews and friends’ kids are any metric, his general lack of comportment is hardly due to being on the autism spectrum.
Of course, not all of the summer has been like this. There have been the usual summer pitfalls that are absolutely attributable to the autism spectrum. His sleep has been dysregulated since he got to town. Also, they’re less frequent now, but the meltdowns seem to have gotten more intense. Yelling and screaming are usually the pièce de résistance of his outbursts. And then there are those moments late at night, long after he’s drifted off to sleep, where this Dad just feels like he’s flailing about and not entirely sure what to do to fix any of it.
But then there are the wins. My kid has read two chapter books this summer (the first two of The Olympians series). We took a trip to Colorado and deftly navigated the chaos and noise of the airports. He has gotten into a new video game in his own right (Ark: Survival Ascended). We’ve even graduated to noise cancelling headphones, adult shampoo/conditioner and grown-up toothpaste. When you add in that he’s never missed a meal, and learned how to use the air fryer to boot – well, it’s nearly enough to counter-balance the challenges.
The summer is surely drawing to a close. And it’s fair to say that things have been far from perfect. There’s still shoes on the floor. But I suspect that in a few weeks when the house is quiet and everything is tucked away in its proper place, I’ll miss those shoes on the floor and will see more of the wins from this summer than the challenges.
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’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.
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.
I saw a gaggle of crows outside my office window this morning. They foraged in the grass, looking for food, I assume. Either that or looking for whatever crows look for on sunny fall days. With expert practice, they flipped the leaves with their long beaks and nuzzled their way into the grass underneath the leaves.
After a time they became bored, strutting about the lawn before taking flight in the direction of the sun.
This morning I read that the midterm elections are tightening with all signs pointing toward buoyed Republican prospects next Tuesday. Perhaps sensing the inevitable, President Biden and the Democrats are bemoaning the news, warning Americans that potential Republican gains are simply “dark forces that thirst for power.” Meanwhile, most Americans are simply fed up with both parties, and seem to think that no matter who wins they will do a piss-poor job of governing the country.
With war still raging in Ukraine, inflation running rampant, and grocery prices soaring, the only glimmer of hope that even CNN can offer us is that avocados are getting cheaper.
How I envy those crows.
The crows didn’t seem to care much about who wins next week’s midterms. I suspect that they would gladly poop on whatever political party is in power, and fly off cawing to one another about the reactions from the humans on the ground far below them.
They’re also wonderfully content. They feel no need to annex another crow’s territory, or threaten their existence with nuclear weapons.
And they take sustenance from the world around them. The crows have no use for money unless it’s a paper bill that might make good lining for a nest. Grocery prices, gas prices, mortgages, credit card bills – all of the things that our more ‘sophisticated’ species takes for granted as part of every day life – have no relevance to my black-feathered friends.
Pax Plena 