The Gift of Doing Nothing
For as long as I can remember, summer has never really been a break. It was just another opportunity to work harder, prepare more, and stay busy enough to avoid sitting still. This year was different. After the hardest school year of my career, I did something I've never really allowed myself to do before: I stopped. What I discovered about rest, productivity, perfectionism, and even the opening chapters of Genesis changed the way I think about my work—and maybe even my worth.
Living in the And
I think I’ve been waiting for my life to start again. Waiting for my body to feel better, for the pain to ease, for things to go back to the way they were—or at least to something recognizable. I’ve told myself that once I’m healed, once this chapter is over, then I’ll fully live again. But lately I’ve started to wonder what it would mean to stop waiting.
When Everything Feels Like Too Much
Some weeks don’t arrive with a single breaking point—they just keep adding weight. That’s what this one felt like. Every day brought another responsibility, another decision, another thing that needed attention while my body and spirit were already stretched thin. I kept telling myself to push through, to stay focused, to keep moving forward. But underneath all of that was a quieter truth: I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and running out of margin.
Choosing Presence & Learning to Stay
I think we’ve been lied to about what thriving is supposed to look like. Somewhere along the way, thriving became synonymous with momentum, clarity, joy, productivity—good weeks where everything clicks and nothing hurts too badly. By that definition, this has not been a thriving week for me. But I’m starting to realize that thriving isn’t a mood or an outcome—it’s a posture. It’s not about having it together or feeling inspired. It’s about choosing presence when things are heavy, uncomfortable, and unresolved.
Anger Is Where I Go First
When things feel uncertain or overwhelming, I don’t feel anxious first. I feel angry. It’s my default response—fast, sharp, and familiar. I hate this about myself. I don’t want to live my life as an angry man, constantly irritated at the world and everyone in it. I know, logically, that my anger doesn’t actually hurt the people I’m angry at—it only eats away at me. And yet, there it is. Again and again.