Still here

Humility isn’t denying what you’ve done.

It’s knowing you didn’t have to do it all to be proud of yourself.

I’ve learned that over and over—sometimes from mentors, from family, from friends, and from those I’ve loved over the years. I’ve also learned it from experience.

I’m not big on legacies. I think they’re like sandcastles—big and beautiful, and eventually gone.

But we all leave legacies, regardless. Some are louder than others, but none are less important.

I’m proud of what I’ve been able to do over a now longer career. But also in how determined I’ve been to fix what is broken—through directed and intentional action.

This isn’t something I’m new to. I’ve been doing it for as long as I can remember.

I flabbergasted my parents sometimes with how I responded to bullying—with kindness. And how that actually worked.

I’m a rare person who loved school in spite of the bullying. Maybe because of it.

Maybe it made me want to try harder—to show people that you didn’t have to throw a punch to prove who was more masculine.

My strength was in my hope for a kinder world. One that I believed in as soon as I could kneel, and understood prayer, and devotion to something bigger than me.

Life has taken me for a ride, but I don’t have any real regrets. I’ve had to do what any human has to do: make choices. Not every choice is easy. Some of the most important ones are the hardest.

They’re uncomfortable. Ill-fitting. Because none of us knows what’s on the other side of a choice until it’s made.

I still yearn for a world filled with peace. But I know that’s not my burden to bear alone.

It’s difficult, feeling deeply in a world awash in anxieties. Sometimes, you hold those for people without realizing it.

I know this is a gift. And I know it comes with costs.

These costs are often borne by the ego—The same ego that wakes us up at night with dispatches from “what if” news.

There’s nothing wrong with that. We live in a noisy world.

Sometimes, you have to turn off the noise just to remember you’re still here.

And somehow—I’m still here.

That’s the mystery and the miracle: When, in spite of everything that tried to end you—stress, disease, economic uncertainty—you remain standing.

Surviving life is no fun, and it’s also part of the human condition.

We all want to live to be part of something. Our world has made it hard to find those connections.

But I’ve been saved, over and over, by grace. Grace is that thing that Adyashanti, the non-dual teacher, refers to as an “unearned merit.” They can feel like little gifts from the universe, or miracles, or strange occurrences with complete strangers that make you wonder.

It shows up in the unlikeliest of times, often when the only question you have left is why?

Well—

Here’s the cheat code:
Everyone suffers.
Sometimes unnecessarily.
Often unfairly.

But everyone is capable of healing. It takes time. It takes persistence. And it takes finding the kind of love you can’t get from a Hallmark card—The fierce kind. The kind of love returned when you've hit your limit.

I’m saddened that not everyone has that love—or if they do, they can’t feel it deeply. Because sometimes it hurts too much to let it in.

I’ve always said, maybe morbidly, that when I die, I don’t want to be remembered for what I did or how many people loved me—I want to be remembered for how I lived. How I loved this world. And the people in it.

I don’t need a fancy plaque.

Maybe just a bench.
Under a tree.
With a good view.
Where people can sit and hope, and dream of a better world.

I don’t know if I’ll see world peace in my time. But it can’t hurt to hope. And to live as if that peace is already true.

Because the truth is—

Peace, at least personal peace, is possible in a lifetime. Though admittedly, it's hard and not available as easily to everyone.

The world hasn’t been kind to a lot of people for a long time. But I’ll always do what I can to bring peace and ease to those in my life. Because I can’t stop believing in what could be possible.