Ransom

Is this what a mid-life crisis looks like?

Maybe it’s the onset of winter. Maybe it’s just a job that has been in fifth gear for a little too long. Maybe it’s the responsibility of trying to be a good father, husband, provider, son, brother, or friend. Maybe it’s just fully coming into adulthood and seeing the world through more mature eyes.

Whatever the reason, I’ve been doing a lot of reassessing lately. A series of events in the last few months, although all small standing alone, have worked together to shake up what I thought was a pretty stable existence. It’s forced me to face some things I probably didn’t want to acknowledge and led me to ask some very difficult questions about many things in my life. As a result, my soul has been feeling more burdened than usual. A deep loneliness, if you will.

This feeling had even threatened to cast a pall over the start of the Christmas season, which has always been my favorite time of the year. How fortuitous (or not), then, that I had previously decided that this would be the first time I would truly delve into the season of Advent.

It couldn’t have come at a better time.

Despite being a Christian and having grown up in the church, I wasn’t ever really taught much about Advent other than the Sunday morning readings accompanying the lighting of candles. This year, I did some research to get a better understanding of what this Advent thing is all about. This last Sunday, we kicked off the season with a long family conversation about Advent and the meaning of Christmas (to us). We’ve also been doing some nightly readings and lighting our own Advent wreath. As my wife and I have tried to explain to the kids, in simple terms, that this season is one of hopeful anticipation, I’ve been captivated by the symbols and the imagery.

Darkness. Light. New Life.

The song “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” has always deeply resonated with me. This year, it seems to have hit closer to my heart than ever. The lyrics and music perfectly capture the feeling of despondency and anxious anticipation of a world waiting for salvation. I played it for my kids the other night, and my son asked, “why do you want to listen to scary Christmas music?” (If you haven’t heard Enya’s rendition of it, it truly is haunting.) I tried to explain the beauty of the song, but he’s 6. He can’t possibly understand it yet. But at 36, I do.

A world, enveloped in darkness. Humanity, hoping for deliverance. The people, looking for peace.

Thankfully, I do see the Light, even if clouded by my own raging thoughts. And I can hear the chorus, in the deepest recesses of my being, whispering . . .

Rejoice!

The Reason

As some of you may have noticed, I’ve been on hiatus from the blog for the last month or so. (I was so tempted to use the third person there and say something like, “Renaissance Jack has been on hiatus . . .,” but, I just didn’t think I could pull it off.) Anyway, there’s no good excuse other than that this is always the busiest time of the year for me, and, I feel like I’ve been too tired to put in the requisite thought I expect from myself when it comes to the posts. But, for anyone who cares, rest assured – I will be back.

In the meantime, you will find below a guest post from one of the most thoughtful and loyal people I know. He’s a dear friend, and you can find him on “the Twitter” (Craig Ferguson, anyone?) under the handle “@ice_db.” Enjoy.
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I am the proverbial “silver lining” guy; or, as my good friend likes to say, “Mr. Lemonade.” Too many people have remarked on my “wonderful gift” of seeing the positive aspects of any undeniably negative situation. They don’ t get it, and maybe you don’t either.

It isn’t “perspective,” as they say – it is determination. It isn’t sophomoric “optimism,” either – it is perseverance. And, it’s not “blissful ignorance” or “naivety,” as they judge it to be – it is the hardest thing there is. It is faith.

When you get knocked down eight times, and get up nine…. it is faith. It isn’t faith that you won’t get knocked down again. No. It is Faith that when you do get knocked down, again, you will have the strength to get up – again.

It is a battle, but not between you and the dark cloud, or you and the hard to swallow lemons. It is a battle to stay on the finest of lines between “hope” and “delusion” without falling prey to either.

You mustn’t delude yourself into thinking that things will automatically get better for you, just because you survived the initial bad blow. Equally important, you can’t just stand back up into the mix and merely hope that something will be different. If you do either, you are likely to end up flat on your back – again – because nothing has changed. Only, eventually, you will have been beaten up so badly that you won’ t be able to get back up.

I don’t know why some people (including me) get hit harder or more often than others. Nor can I offer some reward or salvation for having to endure more than others. I don’t believe there is some master plan, or that there is some test or enlightening lesson to be
learned. I can’t believe that. I need to believe that it is just some damn bad luck. The reasons for that are best left for another day.

What I do know, is that you need to get up. That’s what the silver lining is. That’s the lemonade. That’s the finest of lines between hope and delusion. All I can do is remember my reasons for doing so… and do my best in the damn world to help you remember yours.

Today, remind the people you love and who love you that you are each other’s reasons for getting up; and no matter how hard they might get hit, there will be strong arms around them to lean on when they do. And, if you are worried that somebody out there might not have reasons… or needs some extra arms… reach out with yours.

Casey at the Bat

For those of us living in the Midwest, fall is always a special time. The leaves change into beautiful autumn colors, the air takes on a certain crispness, and the sights and smells of bonfires invade the senses. From a sporting perspective, fall always brings the eager anticipation of all things football, and the conclusion of the long baseball season. I used to love everything about fall.

Then the Cubs stabbed me in the heart. Again.

I know many of you reading this are fans of other baseball teams; most likely the Cardinals. Having grown up in southern Illinois, I absorbed my fair share of abuse for being a stupid Cubs fan. But, I was a die-hard. Through thick and thin. I grew up on Harry Caray, Ryno, the Hawk, and the Penguin. It was in my blood. Sure, even as a young Cubs fan, one of my early memories is of a 9-year-old me crying myself to sleep in 1984 when the Cubs collapsed against the Padres. And yeah, later in life, it turned out that the smiling guy everyone loved, Sammy Sosa, turned out be a self-centered, narcissistic, cheater. Oh, I grew more cynical the longer I stood by my team, but I never let them go.

Until the fall of 2008.

That was the year that was supposed to reverse the curse of the goat. It had been exactly 100 years since the Cubs had won a World Series, but they were flying high. All of my buddies and I kept waiting for them to self-destruct throughout the season, but they never did. They were steady as a rock. After so many years of hurt, and doubt, I did the unthinkable. I allowed myself the slight possibility that THIS might actually be the year. No more “wait until next year.” It was going to happen in my lifetime, and it was going to be the biggest sporting celebration the nation had ever seen. It was going to feel like sweet, sweet redemption.

Then they promptly got swept out of the playoffs in the first round without winning a single game.

I forced myself to sit there and watch the final outs of Game 3 against Los Angeles because I wanted it to hurt. I wanted to let all those years of disappointment sink in so that I would never, ever again let myself get taken in by the Cubs. I sat there fuming in silence for almost 10 minutes after the game was over. I got up, grabbed a big trash bag, and shoved every bit of Cubs paraphernalia I had into the bag, save one (a gift from my Mom which had its own sentimental value). I threw the bag into the basement, and it’s sitting there yet today, although I have no idea where. That night, I slept as soundly as I had in a long time. (Yes, I’m aware this all makes me a crazy person, but there you have it.)

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of my kids crying.

When I came downstairs, they demanded to know where all their Cubs stuff was. You see, like a sucker, I had drawn my poor kids into the tragedy that is Cubs fandom, and had bought them hats, shirts, and other cool stuff. We had watched a few different games together, and had even made a trip to Wrigley. We talked about reversing the curse. The Cubs had become our family’s team. And I had taken all those great memories and put them in a trash bag. It clearly wasn’t my best moment as a father. After all, I hadn’t even considered that they would be upset for those reasons. I should have, of course, because they’re still a little too young to let sports dominate their emotional landscape the way I did. So, I apologized for being a dunce and gave them back their stuff. But not without some sage advice.

“I did this for you. I was trying to be a good Dad and save you from a lifetime of heartache. If you want to have a happy life as a baseball fan when you get older, then be a Cardinals fan like your uncle and some of your friends.”

It’s almost two years later, and I haven’t watched an entire Cubs game since that fateful day. I’m guessing I haven’t even watched more than a grand total of 8 innings of their games. I can’t tell you what their record is, I can’t tell you who on the team is playing or hurt, and most amazingly, I never even know when they’re playing the Cardinals until someone else mentions it. Meanwhile, my kids have pretty much stopped caring about specific baseball teams. Sadly, so have I. In fact, I have lost almost all love for the sport itself, even as my son’s love for it grows daily. I like watching him play, but this October, I doubt I’ll watch even one full game of the World Series.

Fall will never be quite the same, thanks to the lovable losers.

EDIT: I forgot to count the couple of games at Wrigley that I’ve gone to in the last couple of years, which was done in stereotypical Cub fan fashion: as a social event. I enjoyed those games more than any before because I didn’t care one bit if they won or lost. It’s also pretty debatable whether or not I was “watching” as opposed to hanging out with my friends and occasionally looking at the field.

An Ode to Religion and Powdered Wigs

“Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.“

These are the words of the First Amendment to the United States Constitution. There’s a whole lot of conviction, belief, and power crammed into that sentence. In fact, you could argue that it grants American citizens the most precious and essential individual liberties, all while protecting them from governmental intrusion. And, of all of these freedoms, with which one did our forefathers lead? That government should not create any laws establishing an official religion for the country, nor any laws that would prevent citizens from exercising the religion of their choice.

The earliest American settlers did not come to our shores in search of wealth, in pursuit of power, or out of a desire to explore uncharted territory. They were not inspired by Marco Polo, Christopher Columbus, or Ponce de Leon. Plain and simply, it can be argued that they were fleeing England more than that they were coming to North America. It appears that it was more appealing to the settlers to be anywhere but there, where the Church of England and the rule of government were one and the same. They couldn’t openly practice their religion in England without fear of persecution. They couldn’t be critical of the Church, because they were essentially rebelling against the mighty government.

More than one hundred and seventy years later, their progeny would establish an official, democratic system of government in that new land. And chief among their concerns was the freedom of religion. (Yes, the “bill of rights” came as amendments to the Constitution some five years later, but the point remains).

Fast forward 220 years. Glenn Beck leads a rally called “Restoring America,” in which he calls for the country to “turn back to God.” Citizens are up in arms over the establishment of Islamic mosques in different parts of the country, and very specifically, are vehemently opposed to the establishment of an Islamic cultural center two blocks from what is known as “Ground Zero.” Other citizens (and many of the same ones) refer to President Obama as a “Muslim” and mean it not only as an insult, but as a scare tactic. Many other citizens argue that government should be feeding the poor, taking care of orphans and widows, and protecting the environment because that’s what the Bible calls us to do.

Our forefathers would be rolling in their graves. That’s right. I said it.

And I’m a Christian.

How did we get here, so far from where our forefathers started? When did our religion become so intertwined with government? For most of my life, I’ve seen a growing sentiment from BOTH sides of the proverbial aisle that our government should behave more “Godly.” That its laws and other official acts should be reflective of the Christian values this country was founded on. Huh? I know, I know, you think I’m forgetting the “but, our forefathers were Christians” argument. I fully concede that point, but there is a huge difference between them being “Christians,” and their desire to establish a theocracy – a “Christian nation,” if you will. I think the Constitution is pretty clearly against the latter. That’s because it seems that our forefathers were able to do something that we can’t do today: separate our religious beliefs from our political ones.

I, for one, would love to see two separate conversations. The first would be about the country and its values, but without any mention of religion whatsoever. I know that seems like I’m checking my Christianity at the door, but I guess I just never saw Jesus (or the disciples, or Paul) trying to spread the gospel through government. If you believe the Bible, Christ didn’t come to establish a kingdom in this world, but in the one hereafter. That, for me, has always implied that Christian values shouldn’t be perpetuated/imposed through governmental or political means. Now, does that mean that we, as citizens of this country, shouldn’t have our voices heard within the representative system of government that our forefathers created? Absolutely not. As Christian citizens, we have the right to express our opinions and to vote for representatives who will be our voices – but I don’t see that process as a means of creating a “Christian nation.” Not only does it seem contrary to the Constitution, where the voices of citizens who follow all other religions (and those who follow no religion at all) should be heard just as loudly, but it also seems oxymoronic in the context of Christ’s example (of giving to Caesar what is Caesar’s).

The other conversation I’d love to have with my fellow Christians, as you can imagine, would be one about faith, without any mention of government whatsoever. What does it mean to be a Christian? What is our role in spreading the hope of the gospel in word and in action? How do we help all people in need without the aid of government? What is the role of the church in our society? These are all questions that I think are begging to be answered, but have gotten obfuscated in political discussion. When did we as Christians start looking to the government to do the Church’s work?

I apologize for the long, long post, but I’ve been struggling with this for the better part of 10 years. I guess some strong convictions just can’t be stated in one sentence.

Or can they?

The American Dream

“I’m impatient about getting well-known and having more opportunities and this seemed like a great way to get started on it.”

Those are Montana Fishburne’s thoughts on becoming famous. She’s the daughter of critically acclaimed actor Laurence Fishburne. She’s 18. And she just released her first porn film.

I’m not sure I need to say much more than that, but we all know that I will.

Is this the new American dream? The reckless pursuit of 15 minutes of fame? What happened to the advice our parents gave us, handed down by their parents, and their parents before them – that we could achieve anything we wanted in this country through dedication and hard work? Even though I don’t think this is particularly accurate advice, at least their hearts were in the right place. Sadly, that idea looks like it went out the door accompanied by Paris Hilton. Or the Kardashian sisters (Kim was Montana’s inspiration for pursuing a sex tape as her entree to fame). Or Snooki, The Situation, or any of the other “actors” from the television show Jersey Shore.

I’m to blame for this. We all are. Every time we watch one of these dumb reality television shows, we are perpetuating the attitude that one can become famous without any effort or an ounce of talent. In fact, we actually glorify stupidity, all for the sake of good “drama.” So, we’ve got all kinds of people out there running around auditioning for reality TV shows, hoping to get discovered. (And I don’t mean shows like American Idol – I don’t watch it, but can at least acknowledge that many of the contestants have spent much time trying to become better singers).

Unfortunately, this concept isn’t limited to just fame. Ask any college professor or employer and they’ll tell you that young whippersnappers today want success without hard work or experience. Many want to ace exams, but admittedly will not read the material for the course. Upon graduation, many expect salaries equivalent to those more senior than they. Clearly, we have failed this generation.

In Malcolm Gladwell’s book “Outliers” (which is fantastic), he dedicates an entire chapter to the 10,000-hour rule. In short, Gladwell’s research found that any incredibly successful person has put in 10,000 hours worth of practice honing his or her skill. Don’t be confused. I will never become a prodigious basketball player by practicing 10,000 hours. However, his point is that besides having the requisite amount of natural ability, what separates a guy like Michael Jordan from the average NBA player is the amount of work Jordan did to perfect his talent.

For those of us mere mortals, living run-of-the-mill lives, this means that we have to identify our strengths and then be willing to work hard to achieve success using them. Heck, even if we can all also agree that it helps to know people – hence all the focus on networking – that still didn’t seem to be enough for Montana Fishburn. She has a famous father who I’m sure would’ve been more than happy to open some doors and make some introductions for his daughter. After all, aren’t fame and fortune often passed down along family lines? But read her quote again – she couldn’t even wait for THAT process to happen! Her self-proclaimed impatience has led to a mistake that her 18-year-old self doesn’t understand and that her 30-year-old self will never live down.

It’s entirely possible that I’ve reached curmudgeonhood at the ripe old age of thirty-five, but surely I’m not the only one seeing how much lazier, dumber, and superficial we’re becoming as a society. How can we find a way to reclaim the idea that dedication and hard work can lead to a lifetime of fulfillment and fruitful societal contribution?

We’re in trouble when Morpheus couldn’t even convince his own daughter to take the red pill . . .

Tiers in Heaven

As a kid, I was never really in to sports, and I most certainly did not follow professional sports. Sure, I participated in my fair share of local sports: T-ball, 8 years of soccer, even 4 years of tennis in high school. But it had never really been a passion of mine. My brother, on the other hand, was the athlete of the family. One of my earliest memories was when my brother informed me that he had been drafted by the Dallas Cowboys and would have to leave our hometown to pursue his football career — he was 6 and I was 4 at the time.

Some years later – probably shortly after I graduated from college, I somehow got involved in “fantasy sports.” For those who might be unfamiliar with the phenomenon, it is nothing like the picture to the right. Instead, a group of guys (and/or girls) form a league and draft teams of real-life players. Those players’ actual stats are compiled for each team, and depending on how the players perform, a team will either win or lose a matchup (game). There are innumerable nuances involved, but this is a serviceable, rudimentary description.

Once you’ve begun your fantasy career, one of the things you learn early on is how to evaluate one player against another. One such system involves assigning players to different “tiers” depending on their level of performance. A “tier 1″ player would be considered among the elite of his particular position – the upper echelon, whereas a “tier 5″ player may be considered a-dime-a-dozen type player.

Recently I’ve been thinking about how I might relate this method to other areas of my life — specifically to how I judge moments, relationships, etc. On the surface, you would think the Tier 1 moments/relationships are easily identifiable. Your wedding, the birth of your children, graduations, promotions and the like tend to be moments that stand out as hands down, upper echelon moments.

However, I’ve recently come to the realization that Tier 1 is comprised of the more seemingly insignificant. While those important landmarks in life do leave lasting feelings/memories, it is the life lived in between those moments that makes up the “gotta-have-em, can’t-live-without” elite moments of our lives. One such Tier 1 moment: The other day I was tickling my daughter, and she was laughing as only a two-and-a-half year old can. In between tickles, she said, “Again, Daddy.” The smile on her face melted my heart, and I knew right then that this was a moment I wanted to remember.

After that, I started recalling other Tier 1 moments in my life. It wasn’t when I stood in my brother’s wedding; it was when we sat on our backyard swingset and he gave me his Dallas Cowboys farewell speech. It wasn’t when my kids were born; it was when I found them sharing a pillow on the floor and holding hands.

Unfortunately, I have found much of this out too late. I have let many Tier 1′s pass me by. Focusing on the wrong things, I have let some relationships lapse — relationships that were sure to generate innumerable Tier 1 moments. My only hope for myself, and my advice to any readers, is to pay close attention to those “moments in between” and to seek to recapture some of those moments/relationships that may have been lost. Only then can we hope to be successful and happy in this game of life.

NOTE: Lest anyone be confused regarding this fantastic post, I want to point out that it was authored by a guest, and dear friend, Christopher Noyes. You can find a link to his blog in my blogroll at the bottom of the page . . .

John Q. Public

A couple of days ago, I had the opportunity to attend part of a conference where scholars debated the question of public education. I thoroughly enjoyed the discussion, particularly when folks started dissecting words and asking questions that made this (former) lawyer proud. My favorite question came at the very end, when a professor noted that everyone used pronouns such as “us” and “we” when referring to “the public.”

“Who are we talking about when we say ‘we’?” she asked.

If you’re anything like me, my mind immediately raced to the infamous Bill Clinton quote, “it depends on what the meaning of the word ‘is’ is.” Except that once I dismissed the silly parallel, I realized what a truly profound question had been posed.

When people make references to “the public,” who do they think comprises this group? Whatever definition we give to the word necessarily affects countless other aspects of our society, such as public school, public parks, public streets, public health . . . you get the point. Define the Public and you help define the purpose of these presumedly public initiatives. Ironically, as much as we argue about public rights, as Americans we most pride ourselves on being a country founded on individual liberties. As a result of this tension, it seems we’ve spent most of our time as a nation trying to figure out ways to be more united (as evidenced by the explicit name of the country itself), even as our citizenry became, and continues to grow, evermore diverse.

We don’t have to look much further than the current sociological climate to see evidence of a fractured Public. The country is split almost in half along the two dominant political parties, each with a very different take on “the Public interest.” What are the most hotly debated issues today? Immigration. Islamic cultural centers. Gay marriage. At the heart of each of those topics are citizens – real people – who are members of the Public in the truest sense of the word. Which part of the Public has to compromise so that we can resolve these issues in the “best interest of the Public”?

In another blog entry, I plan to write more fully about the prevalence (and influence) of technology today, but I think one aspect is worth noting here. The inception of the internet, 24-hour television, mobile communication devices, etc., raises new questions about a “global” society. We hear about things happening all over the planet almost instantly. Yet, this same technology provides us with almost infinite choices, which enables us to delve more and more into individual interests. Think about it. Through things like iTunes, Facebook, and Fox News/MSNBC, we can self-select our music, our “friends,” and even our news. Recent surveys show that despite the increased opportunities for exposure, we’re actually growing more ignorant about the world around us.

As all of these things rattle around in my head, I can’t help but think that, at best, the definition of the Public is growing narrower, even as the makeup of the Public grows larger. How inclusive is the Public? Are all citizens represented in the Public? Do they all have a meaningful voice in the Public? How do we as a nation determine what individual interests must be sacrificed for the sake of the Public interest?

Then again, maybe I have it all wrong. Maybe there really isn’t any such thing as a collective Public interest to begin with. Maybe the Public is comprised of nothing more than a collection of individual interests – “people who think like me” – where the loudest and strongest voices win.

Is the Public, like history, defined by the victors?

Echoes of Academia, Part 2: Something’s Gotta Give

The current economic crisis has highlighted some interesting employment trends, but none more disturbing (to me) than the idea of “doing more with less.” I’m fascinated by the fact that otherwise rationally thinking people seem to lose all sense of reality when it comes to the productivity of a workforce. Employers are cutting budgets, decreasing manpower, and freezing salaries . . . and then RAISING expectations.

Am I missing something?

Things may be a little different in private industry, but this type of thinking is endemic in higher education (and maybe education generally). For the last couple of decades, higher ed as a whole has been growing. And growing. And growing. Colleges have added new majors. They’ve added new programs. They’ve added new buildings, new offices, and new staff. To sustain themselves financially, colleges have had to increase tuition and increase fundraising. However, in principle I can’t fault them for that. At least they were trying to invest both human and financial resources into their growth, which is the way it should work. (For the moment, I’ll leave open the question of whether unrestrained growth funded on the backs of students should have happened in the first place, but I think my tone belies that it’s a rhetorical one for me.) Bottom line – if you’re going to do something new, you should be able to invest in it.

Fast forward to 2008. State funding for public institutions of higher ed is diminishing. Private schools are facing enrollment shortages because students can’t afford the continuously raised tuition. Colleges are seeing red when looking at their budgets. So, they’re faced with the difficult decision of how to move forward in the current environment. Are colleges prioritizing? Are they doing genuine self-analysis to determine what things they’re truly good at, and what they should do without? Are they investing in potential areas of growth and eliminating dying programs?

Nope. Instead, what I see, and what I hear, and what I read, is how they have to continue to grow in spite of decreased funding and human resources. Huh?

It’s called sweat equity. The use of people to make up for lost resources. At one point, colleges thought they needed three people to get X amount of work done, but all of a sudden, they think they can get the same X amount of work done, plus Y, with just one person. And with slashed budgets. And, how are they motivating the remaining employee to do the work of three? “Be thankful you have a job.” Fear, not respect.

Listen, I am completely in favor of efficiency, and I certainly won’t argue that higher ed is bloated in ways that no other industry is. It’s just that having been on the industry side in the past, I don’t have much confidence in education’s ability to recognize efficiency in the first place.

Earlier this week, I was told that our office needed to concentrate on a (pet) project for the next month. I asked whether or not the expectation would be that we “concentrate” on this and five other projects at the same time. (I hope I didn’t come across as snotty as that sounds on paper!) The response? That we have to face the reality that we will be expected to do it all. My response? We need to face the reality that it all won’t get done. Because it’s not humanly possible. Yet, that “reality” is dismissed as negativism, or pessimism, or not being a “team player.”

Is it so wrong to expect that colleges and universities work smarter and not harder? Or smarter AND harder? Or that “smarter” be somewhere in the equation? Apparently, that’s too much for higher education. Does it get more ironic than that?

Then They Do

My oldest daughter turned 10 today. 10 years. A decade.

How did this happen? Where did all the time go?

I remember holding that little one in my arms in the early morning hours the day after she was born. I was in the hospital room, in the dark, as my wife slept. We watched a cartoon named “Stanley,” and I told her that I couldn’t wait to watch cartoons with her as she grew up.

She’s 10.

I remember very vividly having a conversation with my wife as our then 18-month-old daughter toddled around the living room. “Can you even picture what she’ll look like when she’s 3?,” I asked.

She’s 10.

I remember my wife finding me in the living room crying as I watched a country music video called “Then They Do,” a few days before my daughter turned 4.

She’s 10.

I remember her first day of soccer. Her first day of pre-school. Her first lost tooth. Her first day of kindergarten. Her first day at her new school when we moved here.

She’s 10.

For all you newer parents out there, believe me when I say, it goes fast. This is coming from a guy who has struggled with many aspects of fatherhood, particularly when the kids were really young. During one of those frustrating early years, I remember someone saying, “I know right now it seems like the years crawl, but once they start school, it’s like a blur. And then they graduate.” Assuming the Lord sees fit to let our life proceed as expected, I have eight years left at home with my baby girl.

She’s 10.

She’ll be a teenager in three years. She’ll be in high school in five. She’ll be driving in six. She’ll be going to college in eight.

She’s 10.

Is it possible for me to be missing her already?

Do the Hustle

What do I want to be when I grow up?

No, really. I could use help answering that. Fourteen years after graduating from college, I’m still asking myself this question.

I have a job in a professional field. For all intents and purposes, I have a career. It’s even my second one! I went to law school, became a lawyer, stopped being a lawyer, then went into higher education philanthropy. But is this what I really want to do with the rest of my life?

My biggest struggle is evidenced by the name of this blog. I’m interested in too many things. The idea of picking any one career path almost scares me. Recently, I’ve even been giving serious consideration to starting a PhD program, but not surprisingly, can’t figure out what I’d want to focus on. Ultimately, I want a career that allows me to draw on all of my interests and experience. I want to have vision. I want to be creative. I want to be entrepreneurial. I want diversity and variety. I don’t want to be pigeon-holed into one area of expertise. However, I’m finding that this just isn’t how the world works. At least not right now.

So, I usually try to find outlets for this pent up energy. There’s almost never a time in my life when I’m not in conversation with someone about some new project, job, career, etc. The professional positions I’ve held have allowed me to meet tons of different people from all walks of life. As a result, I’ve been blessed in that I don’t usually have to hunt for new opportunities; they usually just show up. (Believe me, in today’s economy, I sincerely recognize how fortunate this is.) For the past four or five years, just talking about all of these different options has brought me satisfaction. But now, it’s starting to get old.

Recently, I heard a term describing this constant pursuit of opportunities: “hustling.” I used to love hustling – it comes pretty naturally to me. Well, the pursuit part. Not the success part. And that’s where I find myself today. I’m tired of doing a lot of talking, with no results. I’m no longer a young man. I don’t have the same level of energy (physical, mental, or emotional) that I had five years ago. The hustling isn’t that fun anymore; it’s becoming a grind. It leads me toward discontentment. I never feel settled down because I’m always looking at the next thing. That’s even happened to me since I started my current job, which I mostly enjoy. In the last two years, I’ve been asked to consider five different positions, and have pursued two or three consulting-type opportunities. Whether by my own choice, or by the decision of others, none of those has come through. The process has been exhausting. I’m at a stage where I want to see progress, not just engage in more conversation.

In the last few days, an old opportunity has presented itself once again. Of all the things I’ve considered doing in the past, this is the one that I’d love to see happen. It would mean working with two of my best friends, doing something we dreamed about doing in college, in an arena we love, and in pursuit of a good cause. I should be thrilled. After all, we’ve had some doors open that seem to promise progress. To get there, though, it means we’re going to have to get after it. Do a bunch of networking. Set up a lot of meetings. Do a lot of talking. Hustling, baby!

And I’m already tired.