77% Weekly

Wood You Like To Learn? I walk through the house to the front porch holding a piece of wood that needs to be smoothed out and then installed in the kitchen drawer.As I pass my 15-year-old daughter, I ask, “Do you want to learn how to sand?”She does not.And that’s fine.Learning about methodically, in a […]

Go To Bed, Dad.  It’s Tuesday night.  I’ve just come downstairs and entered the living room; Jane, Annie, and a beloved young friend, Calliope, are sitting there.  I’ve known Calliope since she was born 21 years ago in Los Angeles.  She’s in town to see Noah Kahan, a musician she and Annie enjoy. Consequently, last

    Hello Beloved friend,   I don’t have an article for you this week. And, I’m sorry.   I’m working (mindfully, with compassion towards myself, and full-throttle) on the Kickstarter book launch next week.     Kickstarter Kickstarter is a global crowdfunding platform focused on creativity that has helped 500,000+ projects to raise the

On the first Monday of the month, I send out a looser, chattier article.   So, “hi.”   ===   Today’s newsletter is a compilation of a few short-thoughts on:   joy less hate love patience.         Joy.   Joy doesn’t exist when we are in shame or guilt. Joy exists only

In ancient Rome, immediately behind the generals parading through the streets celebrating their most recent victory, there was a servant paid to repeat over and over to the lauded conqueror, “Memento Mori”—remember that you will die.   Can you even imagine Caesar, in his hour of victory and achievement, so intentionally humbled?   Wow.  

    It’s the first Monday of the month, so it’s a slightly chattier 77% Weekly.   ===   Beloved reader,   I’d love to frame it as “I am figuring out how to do things right,” but that doesn’t feel authentic.   I can’t frame it like that. Because I’m doing something wrong. I’m

Mistaken    I leave my cart near the lemons and limes and walk over to ponder Trader Joe’s robust selection of dried fruits—dried passion fruit rounds are a new fave.   A woman, mid-fifties, coarse salt-and-pepper hair, approaches my cart and starts to wheel it away.    I say, “I’ll gladly trade for the items

⅞ Time   “The challenge I’m putting before you is called ⅞ time,” I tell the Zoom screen containing the head and torso of the person with whom I’m doing spiritual direction.   “I don’t know what that is,” comes through my speakers.   “I’m not surprised,” I laugh, “I just made it up this

I’m sorry. I hear you.   The child whose day it is to empty the dishwasher did so before going to school today. Hooray. (It doesn’t always happen.) And I decide, before I disappear into ROTB work—in the spirit of everyone putting in a little extra effort—to load the contents of the very crowded sink

May. I have patience? Beloved, It’s May. Which is, pardon the bad pun, A-may-zing. The calendar seems to have flipped from March to May instantly. Time flies like an arrow. (And pardon the dad joke: fruit flies like bananas.) — All minutes (or any other quantity of time) are not the same length. Some time