Category: My personal path
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Papa’s words ringing in my ears
“Papa’s words ringing in my ears, son, you got to get tighter with your tears.” As I listened to these lyrics of the Willie Nelson song, Old Fords and a Natural Stone, I was transported back more than half a century to my Tullahoma (TN) High School graduation. Our graduation took place on the evening…
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Finding freedom in the confines of prison
It was 1993, and I had been making my weekly 30-mile trek from my little cottage in the hills outside Austin, Texas to Bastrop Federal Correctional Institute for the better part of a year. Each Thursday, I worked with the male inmates in the prison drug and alcohol rehabilitation program, and afterward, I taught creative…
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What, me anxious?
I like to think of myself as a self-aware kind of guy—attuned to my emotions, noticing them as they arose, acknowledging them, and letting them pass. But this past year, with the death and destruction of Hurricane Helene in western North Carolina, followed by the election of an ignorant, vengeful, narcissistic wannabe dictator, my mind…
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Deep in the Heart of Texas
Early one morning in May of 1992, I awoke with the realization that I was no longer tethered to any geographic location. My daughter was about to graduate from college, and my commitment to pay her college expenses had been fulfilled (for the most part). My divorce had just become final. And my consulting contract…
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We are the ones we’ve been waiting for
Fifty-seven years ago, I traveled from Tennessee to Washington, D.C. to join a protest against the war in Vietnam. My housing had been prearranged; the group I was traveling with would be staying with a family of Quakers. The weather that weekend in November tested our resolve: bone-chilling temperatures and a strong wind out of…
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Soundtrack of My Life
I’ve had fun putting this playlist together—43 songs starting with my childhood favorite—Roy Rogers’ “Happy Trails” and concluding with David LaMotte’s wonderful rendition of “We Are Each Other’s Angels.” While I consider many of these songs to be favorites, the intent was choosing music that expressed what was happening in my life at that time—from…
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FIRST ACID TRIP . . . COURTESY OF THE U.S. ARMY
My brother Butch and our pal Rusty were roommates and students at MTSU in Murfreesboro, Tennessee in the fall of 1968, working part-time at the local Samsonite manufacturing plant. I was living nearby, and another of our crew, Nubbin, was visiting from Sewanee when a small package arrived at Butch and Rusty’s apartment with no…
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Five Octogenarians Carry on the Handball Tradition at the Downtown Asheville YMCA
While games in which the player strikes the ball with the hand have been around for thousands of years, the modern game of handball took root in this region at the Asheville YMCA in the late 1960’s. Dozens of handball players at the Asheville Y have come and gone over the decades, but the numbers…
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What, 82 years old! How the hell did that happen!
Yep, today is my 82nd birthday, and this morning I was thinking about what I had written on my birthday a few years ago. It described a scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail: A group of grubby-looking guys are pulling a cart full of corpses through a plague-ridden medieval village while one of…
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My Friend John Hoover
My longtime friend John Hoover passed from his mortal form on March 19. Today I honor him and reflect on his powerful influence on my life. In Knoxville in 1983, I screwed up my courage and began therapy with a local psychologist, John Hoover, a tall, brawny man with an engaging and amiable manner. I…
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Upholding Democracy in Our Challenging Times!
On the evening of November 5, I fell into a restless sleep before the results of the presidential election were final. When I roused from my light slumber around 3:00 a.m., turned on my phone, and saw the outcome, I immediately felt dismayed and disheartened. That morning on social media, I wearily read that friends…
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On becoming a “real man”
Loving, sensitive, trusting, and curious when I entered life in 1943, at around five years of age, in reaction to the disparaging remarks and denigrating actions by the mostly well-meaning adults around me, I unconsciously began to believe I was unlovable, inadequate, somehow inherently flawed. Little boys don’t do it like that! Let your grub…
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Did you ever wake up and just think WTF?
There’s something happening here But what it is ain’t exactly clear There’s a man with a gun over there Telling me I got to beware I think it’s time we stop Children, what’s that sound? Everybody look, what’s going down? ”For What It’s Worth” by Stephen Stills In recent weeks I’ve been wondering what the…
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My Experience of Hurricane Helene and Its Aftermath (So Far)
For the past few weeks I’ve had John McCutcheon’s rendition of the song The Great Storm Is Over playing in my mind. Hallelujah! the great storm is over Lift up your wings and fly Yes, Hurricane Helene has passed, but I’m only gradually coming to grips with the storm’s aftermath. You see, we were basically…
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Today, May 30, is our 25th anniversary!
Happy 25th anniversary, my darling Shonnie. We’ve created a wonderful life together filled with love, intentionality and adventure, and I look forward to the next 25 (when I’ll only be 106)! A few highlights from our 2.5 decades together: 1995:We meet while training for the 1996 Austin Motorola Marathon. 1997: We enter a committed relationship…
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My Southern Accent
When my family moved from Texas to California in 1952, I was surprised to find that the third-grade lessons in Pomona were at about the same level as the second grade in Mount Pleasant. So my classroom life was pretty laid back until the day our teacher asked everyone in the class to stand and…
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School Daze: My Rambling Route Through Our Public Education System
One evening a week or so ago, Shonnie, Gracelyn and I watched “Dead Poets Society” together. At the film’s conclusion, I began to ponder the course of my formal education—from the first grade through college. My initial foray in the public school system began at East Ward Elementary in Mount Pleasant, Texas, in 1949, and…
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My Meandering Path Toward Authenticity
Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will…
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Two Attempts to Change the Course of Our Nation’s History
One morning a few weeks ago, I was browsing the daily online headlines when I came across an article describing the lengthy prison sentences, ranging from 10 to 22 years, given four Proud Boys. Each had been convicted for playing a major role in the rampage at the U.S. Capitol Building on January 6, 2021…
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WHAT, ME 80?
An Octogenarian Looks Back on His Path to Good Health If you’d known me when I was in my 20s and 30s, a hyper-masculine, self-indulgent, beer-swilling rebel (without much of a cause), you might have wondered if I’d ever reach the age of 40. I ponder sometimes if I even wanted to. But here I…
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Awakening to Courage
How many of y’all remember that Sixties adage, “Don’t trust anybody over thirty.”? Well, now that I’m half a century past that imaginary line of demarcation, I can look back and see that the Universe had plans for me other than following the path most travelled. When I agreed to share my prose at today’s…
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I Was a Teenage Volunteer!
My time as a University of Tennessee football player The University of Tennessee is currently one of the top five football teams in the nation, a far cry from my experience as a Vol football player some sixty years ago. * * * Throughout my time as a dedicated football player at Tullahoma (TN) High…
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Memories of My Longtime Friend Stewart Horn
My longtime friend Stewart Horn was born on July 3, 1942, and he lived a long and full life. He died on September 23, 2022. I first met Stewart when, at the age of 12, I joined Boy Scout Troop 112 in Tullahoma, Tennessee. Stewart, Pete Mulloney, Fred Hollenback, Chuck Millard, Carlton Sivells, Bucky Jackson…
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A Gradual Reawakening: Letting go of my world-weary blues and connecting with reality . . . again
Was I cranky? No doubt.? Judgmental? Absolutely. Disheartened? Unquestionably. And I’d been unconsciously operating out of this frame of mind for months. Yeah, yeah, I know, given the pandemic, America’s veer toward authoritarianism, war crimes in Ukraine, and the state of our ailing planet, it’s easy to feel discouraged and even drift into depression without…
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All alone in the forest . . . yet not alone at all
Saturday morning, alone in the mist and drizzle. Stillness envelops me. No sound but my footsteps, the drip of the moisture from the trees, the occasional songs of the birds.
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Stuck Inside the Classroom with the Playground Blues Again
As I’ve worked on my memoir, what’s become a massive act of self-interrogation, I’ve realized that my disconcerting experiences during the first grade that I’ve described above profoundly influenced my attitude about school for the remainder of my classroom days.
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The Ketchup Corpse Caper
One balmy June night in 1960, a small group of boys, mostly rising juniors and seniors at Tullahoma (TN) High, were gathered at the Dairy Bar, a little family-run drive-in restaurant typical of those found in small Southern towns before franchised fast food became ubiquitous. We’d met there to eat some burgers and kill a…
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On Turning 78: Aging Somewhat Gracefully
Today on my 78th birthday, I’m remembering that saying from the Sixties: Don’t trust anybody over 80. Oh, it was 30, not 80? Hmm, maybe my memory’s not what it once was.
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My Spiritual Journey
Even though both my Mom and Dad’s Texas forebears were staunch Southern Baptists, I don’t recall going to Sunday school or church during my early childhood, and I was never baptized (which according to their dogma would have included complete immersion in water).
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On Aging: Accepting What Is
“Don’t trust anybody over thirty!” My rallying cry during the Sixties, when I was twenty-something, seemingly bulletproof and forever young, living as though those days would never end.
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60 Years Ago: Our (Barely) Winning Season
In the Sixties, autumn in Tullahoma (TN) revolved around the high school football team—the Tullahoma High School Wildcats.
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What We Did on Our Summer Vacation!
Realizing that Shonnie’s graduate studies at Western Carolina University were about to resume and Gracelyn would soon begin online classes at Evergreen Community Charter School, we began planning a break from our usual pandemic routines.
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My Friend Robert Todd passed away on Saturday
I am sad to write that my friend Robert Todd passed away at 2:25 A.M. on June 27 after a long struggle with pancreatic cancer.
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The Story of My Life
This autobiography was a September 1960 assignment written for Mrs. Clara Garrison’s 5th Period English class, Tullahoma High School, Tullahoma, Tennessee.
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On Turning 77 in 2020
As I was writing this for my seventy-seventh birthday, in the midst of a worldwide pandemic, a scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail flashed into my consciousness: A couple of grubby-looking guys are pulling a cart full of corpses through a plague-ridden medieval village while one of them periodically bangs a gong and…
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2020 . . . So Far
You may have seen that meme that was going around social media a week or two ago: “Dear 2020, none of this sh*t was on my vision board.” Well, life so far in 2020 has presented a number of unforeseen challenges, any one of which would have been sufficient to disrupt my family’s normal life…
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Every student deserves a Ms. Mitchell
Most of my teachers have faded into a nameless, faceless blur. However, there was one savior in the midst of my 12-year confinement. Ms. Mitchell came to Bel-Aire Elementary (Tullahoma, Tennessee) fresh from the University of Tennessee.
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Podcast: Finding My Way Back Home
“Finding My Way Back Home” recounts my journey from toxic masculinity to a more mindful manhood, a voyage that includes participating in a transformational workshop, peeling back the encrusted layers of machismo, being dumped by a lover who finds my newfound vulnerability unmanly, reconciling with my beloved daughter, and serendipitously meeting the woman of my…
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The Roman Room: Favorite Watering Hole of My Youth
Fifty-six years ago, New Year’s Eve 1963, I was slogging through six or eight inches of wet snow toward an evening at my favorite watering hole, the Roman Room. A junior at the University of Tennessee at Knoxville, I was trying life as a normal student having been kicked off the UT football team after…
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Seventy-eight years ago today . . .
Seventy-eight years ago today, Sunday, December 7, 1941, my dad, Mack Mulkey, a recent college drop-out working at the local Dr Pepper plant, drove a borrowed pickup truck the fifteen miles down Highway 356 from his home in Dallas to Irving, Texas . . .
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Podcast: A Tale of Two Daughters
“A Tale of Two Daughters” is the story of how, and why, I slipped the surly bonds of toxic masculinity and transformed from emotionally-stunted misogynist to awakened advocate of equality, from feckless father to devoted dad, as America changed with me.
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How John Hoover Inspired Me to Transform My Life
In Knoxville in 1983, I screwed up my courage and began therapy with a local psychologist, John Hoover, a tall, brawny man with an engaging and amiable manner. I immediately had the sense that I could trust John and that it was safe to share my innermost thoughts and feelings with him.
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Thank you, Howard Hanger, for keeping the main thing the main thing!
Thank you for the huge role you’ve played in our lives, Howard. Thank you for keeping the main thing the main thing. Thank you for being you.
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We were married 20 years ago today!
Early in 1999, Shonnie, in her professional capacity, was setting up at a health fair at the Asheville Civic Center. While we rather liked being committed to one another but not married, we’d discussed matrimony from time to time. Since I was leaving town for a few days, I was moved to pop the question,…
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A Serendipitous Encounter
Shonnie and I were married at Bend of Ivy Lodge outside Asheville 20 years ago tomorrow, May 30. In honor of that occasion, over the next few days I’ll be posting a few episodes from my memoir-in-progress that tell the story of (1) how we met, (2) our wedding weekend, and (3) the life we…
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Finding My Way Back Home Redux
It was a warm June evening in 1961, the night of my graduation from Tullahoma High School. I’d just returned to Tennessee from playing in a high school all-American football game in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, and was feeling cocky and impatient, eager to get the post-graduation celebration underway.
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Happy New Year 2019!
January 1, a new year, some might say a clean slate. During my wild impetuous youth, the first day of the year typically meant horrendous hangovers and, at some point, the hair of the dog. In recent decades, however, January 1 has often been a day of tremendous importance to our family.
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Finding My Way Back Home
In 1943, I entered life a unique, loving, vulnerable, entirely authentic little being. Before long, however, in reaction to the insensitive, thoughtless, or ignorant words and actions of the mostly well-meaning grown-ups around me, I gradually began to change.
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My friend Harry Nelson
My friend and former brother-in-law Harry Nelson has died.
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My essay is featured at the Washington Post!
Yes, I’m excited today because my personal essay “With over 40 years between the birth of my two daughters, I am two different fathers” is featured at the Washington Post On Parenting section.
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Bobby Kennedy was assassinated 50 years ago today.
“Some men see things as they are and say why. I dream things that never were and say why not.”
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I Turn Three-Quarters of a Century Old Today
Seventy-fucking-five. Three-quarters of a century. Thirty percent of the time the U.S. has existed. In my twenties, seemingly bulletproof and brimming with bravado and condescension, I’d sometimes rail, “Don’t trust anybody over 30.” Anyone in their seventies, in my mind, was ancient and useless.
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Letting go of fear, ill will, and my trusty six-gun
Well, they didn’t pry it out of my cold, dead hands. But my only remaining firearm has just left the premises.
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Happy Holidays from the Lavender-Mulkey Clan!
Wow, 2017 is about to come to an end, and in some respects, none too soon. But despite the extraordinary political challenges we’ve confronted in our nation this year, 2017 has been a fulfilling time in many ways for our little family.
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A Number’s Game: Does Age Really Matter in A Relationship?
Shonnie and I were recently interviewed for the BedLoveBeyond podcast, this episode about couples with significant age differences (Ours, by the way, is 28 years.).
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Saturday night family dance
When the Avett Brothers began to sing “No Hard Feelings,” Shonnie walked over, embraced me, and without exchanging a word, we began to slow dance to the music.
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An Open Letter to My Daughter Gracelyn in the Era of Donald Trump
Today I write this letter to you so that you might better understand the tumultuous transformation that’s currently underway in our nation.
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We shouted out, “Who killed democracy?” when after all, it was you and me.
I believe we, the citizens of this nation, have been asleep for the past several decades. We began to pay more attention to our TV shows, our favorite celebrities, our sports teams, our fancy cars, our iPhones, and making money to buy more stuff than we did to our communities and the fabric of our…
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Becoming Myself
Nothing to live up to, Nothing to live down. No one to castigate, No one to crown . . .
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Failing some tests is truly painful.
I am a recovering racist. I grew up white in the South of the 50s and 60s. Most of the schools I attended were segregated. And I have rarely had more than superficial contact with men and women with skin color darker than mine.
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Presidential inaugurations I’ll always remember
The first presidential inauguration I attended was Richard Nixon’s in 1969. Well, I guess I should say that I was actually there for the counter-inauguration . . .
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Happy New Year from the Lavender-Mulkey Clan!
Well, another year has passed, and what a year it’s been. It will be intriguing to see what 2017 will bring. In the meantime, Shonnie, Gracelyn and I want to share what we’ve been up to in 2016. And, if you’re willing, we’d like to hear what’s going on in your life, too.
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Breathing new life into my purpose
I wrote this on December 31, 2010 and am reposting it in honor my daughter Gracelyn’s 6th birthday today. * * * “What is your purpose in life?” the guardian of the gate at the men’s retreat demanded. “To work toward a more compassionate, just and sustainable world,” I immediately replied. “You may enter!” I…
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Hi, I’m Bruce, and I’m a recovering racist.
Hi, I’m Bruce, and I’m a recovering racist.
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My one and only high school sex education class
In 1958, during my sophomore year at Tullahoma (TN) High School, all the boys in every class were ordered to the gymnasium bleachers with the male teachers for a sex education talk by a local physician, Dr. Ralph Brickell. The girls were sequestered in the auditorium with the female teachers for a similar talk by…
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Letting go of fear, ill will, and my trusty six-gun–reposted
Well, they didn’t pry it out of my cold, dead hands. But my only remaining firearm has just left the premises. Having grown up and lived in the South I’ve owned shotguns, .22 rifles, and an assortment of handguns. But over the years, my collection had dwindled to one old revolver that I kept in…
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Spanking gets results . . . just not those you’re likely to desire.
My great-grandmother, Mae McCarthy (better known as Ma), who enjoyed dipping snuff and preferred another layer of body powder to regular bathing, had a Victorian attitude when it came to disciplining children. On a warm afternoon in June when I was four, I watched with dismay as Ma instructed Mom in how to choose a…
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My cherished friend Sharon Parish
My personal remembrance of my cherished friend Sharon Parish, who passed away ten years ago. I wrote this for her daughter Lily Parish’s “Whispers,” a collection of stories about the profound uniqueness of her Mom written by those of us whose lives she so deeply touched. I first met Sharon Parish at Way of a…
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I found it, I lost it, I found it again.
While living by myself in a little cottage on Mount Bonnell outside Austin in the early nineties, I was without a significant other for the first extended period in my life. Fortunately (though I didn’t think so at the time) I had the solitude needed to turn my attention toward my own wants and needs…
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All alone in the forest . . . yet not alone at all
To be able to run through the forest, strong, quick strides, uphill, downhill, breathing in my surroundings, fully present, conscious of my connection with the web of life. No concern for money, or possessions, or my standing in the social pecking order, not even my own mortality.
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I Don’t Mind Growing Old; I Just Don’t Want To Be There When It Happens.
“Don’t trust anyone over thirty,” I arrogantly proclaimed during the Sixties, when I was twenty-something and imagined I was bulletproof and would remain forever young. I’m now more than four decades beyond that imaginary line of demarcation. When I look in the mirror it’s clear that I am aging—and I struggle to accept the reality…
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Thought for the day
The other day, I apologized to my wife Shonnie three or four times for various instances of inconsiderate behavior, including speaking disrespectfully to her. I’d certainly recognized and owned up to what I’d done, however, after the final apology, I was reminded of a quotation from my mentor, Brad Brown: “I’m sorry,” said often, easily,…
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How I stopped avoiding my calling and learned to love the thesaurus
The Journey by Mary Oliver One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice – – – though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles. ‘Mend my life!’ each voice cried. But you didn’t…
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Ground Zero
I dreamt about a hellish place Of smoke and dust and fire And volunteers responded to A call that came from higher. Feeding workers hearty meals Washing dust and grime Cheering cops day in day out Regardless of the time. What shall I do? My role to play? A silent “thank you” mumbled? Crying into…
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Life with our little Zen masters—Bandit and Desmond
I have lived with several Zen masters—all of them cats. —Eckhart Tolle In 1999, a few months after Shonnie and I were married, I got a mid-day call from her at her office at the Mission Hospital marketing department in Asheville, North Carolina. I was putting the finishing touches on a client’s marketing plan at…
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Breathing new life into my purpose
“What is your purpose in life?” the guardian of the gate at the men’s retreat demanded. “To work toward a more compassionate, just and sustainable world,” I immediately replied. “You may enter!” I guess I’ve known why I’m on this planet for 15 years or so, And at first I organized workshops that encouraged folks…
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Happy New Year!
Dear family and friends, We hope this post finds you doing well on the first day of the new year. Life in 2014 has been joyous, fun-filled and fulfilling for us, though not without with the ups and downs that life always brings. Here are a few highlights: Gracelyn started preschool three mornings a week…
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My path is undeniable.
Once again I’m struck by how the universe responds when I clearly ask for what I want and take action toward that end. On November 19, I posted a personal essay on my blog about my first year in public school in Mount Pleasant, Texas in 1949, a piece in which I experimented with writing…
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Why I write
My true calling: I’ve known it since grade school when I was fascinated by words and phrases that would roll effortlessly off my tongue. And it’s that thing that I spent the first 40 years of my life avoiding: taking my writing seriously. Even though I was drawn to jobs that required a certain amount…
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Locked in the closet
Mount Pleasant, Texas, September 6, 1949: At the time of my matriculation into the first grade at East Ward Elementary (a squat rectangular building that could easily have passed for a penal institution), Miss Sims was already more than 60 years old and had been teaching there for 28 years. Born in Victorian times, she…
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An unanticipated encounter
Our four-year-old daughter Gracelyn is quite the rhymester, frequently making up poems and songs for her own entertainment and, so it would seem, for ours too. So, at Lake Eden Arts Festival (LEAF) a few weeks ago, we decided to go to the youth poetry slam, where Gracelyn could see kids performing their work and…
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Lesson in humility?
Well, I made history today, personal history anyway. The mountain trails we run on are filled with twists and turns with roots and rocks scattered liberally along the way. Typically I’ll take a spill every 20 runs or so. No consequences more serious that a bruised ego most of the time. In fact, once during…
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When Brucie met Shonnie redux
In honor of our 15 years of married life together, an encore post of the story of how Shonnie and I met and fell in love. I first laid eyes on Shonnie Lavender in 1995 when we both joined the Austin Fit Green Training Group for the Austin Motorola Marathon. It was August, and as…
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The books that have had the greatest influence on me
Here is a list of the 20 books that have had the greatest influence on me.
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“The Journey,” by Mary Oliver
One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice— though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles. “Mend my life!” each voice cried. But you didn’t stop. You knew what you had to do,…
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Rest in peace, Sue Mulkey
Around the first of the year I asked my 88-year-old mother Sue a daunting question: “Are you ready to go?” This once powerful, dynamic, high-energy woman had fallen several times over the past few years, breaking both her ankles in one of them. As she’d slowed down and become less self-reliant, she also became more…
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Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep
My mother Callie Sue Tilghman Mulkey passed away yesterday at the age of 88. Below is a poem that I shared last night at an impromptu gathering of our clan. Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep by Mary Elizabeth Frye Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there; I…
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25 things you may not know (or even care to know) about me
I was a scrawny little kid who was frequently ill. One of my elementary school teachers even referred to me as “sickly.” I played football with reckless abandon from junior high through college, though I have no interest whatsoever in watching games on the gridiron any longer. My favorite color is blue. More than half…
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On Turning 70
Today, on my 70th birthday, I’m recalling the catchphrase we freely cast about during the turbulent years of the late 1960s: “Don’t trust anyone over 30.” I was in my 20s then, unyielding, arrogant, bulletproof (in my mind anyway), and I think we spoke those words not only to set ourselves apart from our elders,…
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My story and I’m sticking with it
“Be careful, Brucie, you might get hurt.” A frequent refrain from my great-grandmother and great-aunt while I was growing up in the late ’40s. Well meaning though they may have been, each hovered over me like a domineering mother hen. And my mom, Sue, filled with the intense desire to protect me from polio, tended…
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When Brucie Met Shonnie
I first laid eyes on Shonnie Lavender in 1995 when we both joined the Austin Fit Green Training Group for the Austin Motorola Marathon. It was August, and as usual, hot as Hades in the capitol city of Texas—highs in the upper 90s to lower 100s.
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My life with Chocolate
Chocolate came bounding into the world in Arlington, Texas in 1988, and from early on, it was obvious that this kitty had a mind of her own, a common trait of all felines, but especially pronounced in this energetic little bundle of fluffy black fur. My wife Deb and I had adopted Chocolate’s parents, Rocky…
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My time as an organizer for Barack Obama in southern Ohio
‘Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. We are the change that we seek.’ –Barack Obama
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My dad and the American Dream
By the time a man realizes that maybe his father was right, he usually has a son who thinks he’s wrong. ~Charles Wadsworth If you look deeply into the palm of your hand, you will see your parents and all generations of your ancestors. All of them are alive in this moment. Each is present…
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Staying put: My city and I’m sticking with it
Home is not where you have to go but where you want to go; nor is it a place where you are sullenly admitted, but rather where you are welcomed—by the people, the walls, the tiles on the floor, the flowers beside the door, the play of light, the very grass.
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Reigniting the vital fire of life
Saturday morning, alone in the mist and drizzle. Stillness envelops me. No sound but my footsteps, the drip of the moisture from the trees, the occasional songs of the birds. How blessed I am to live in this part of the world—hundreds of miles of mountain trails, all within easy reach. Though I usually run…