Time for Her to go out to the Places She will be From

Elizabeth started high school today. I walked to the bus stop with her. Because I wanted to, not because she needed me to. This is how it goes. Each milestone a little different. A little more profound. For weeks I have been imagining her in high school. Walking the halls. Figuring things out. Finding her people. Being herself and changing her people for good. Her people being themselves and changing her for good. What a great, fun, exciting, anxious, scary, important time. She stepped onto the bus and into another world.

I walked back up the hill and into another world of my own. As I walked up the hill listening to the birds and to Simone calling down from the deck, it hit me. This is the home-base Elizabeth will return to. But it is not where she will live. She will live “out there”. She will come back to here. Where the birds chirp and the dog greets and the little sister hugs. Where she can recharge, recuperate, gather some guidance and advice (to be used or not), rest. This is the place she will be anxious to leave once she is finished recharging. And anxious to return to when she gets homesick or just needs some home-love. It is also the place that her family will sit and miss her and wonder what she is up to. And the place where we will encourage her to get back out there to experience and influence the world and the people in it.

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This Book will Terrify You (if I ever get around to writing it)

Amongst Us: A History of the Russian Takeover of the United States

“At what point…is the approach of danger to be expected? … If it ever reach us it must spring up amongst us…”
Abraham Lincoln, Lyceum Address
January 1838

The Second War of Independence has been over for a decade. This book is a history of the period from about 30 years prior to the Russian Takeover until the American people finally re-took the country.

It recounts how, starting at the beginning of the 21st century, the American people became used to the ever increasing presence of armed security personnel in everyday life. Airports, concerts, parades, the mall, even our kids’ schools were always under the watchful eye of armed guards – police, paramilitary security groups, private security contractors. After a string of attacks on public places and the deaths of dozens of people – including little kids – it was nothing to see a tank-like vehicle with a group of M-16 toting tough guys hanging around the school carnival. It was assumed that this was the price of freedom. To be free to move around without fear of being blown up or gunned down by a terrorist, people were willing to put up with this increased paramilitary presence.

The Russians are patient. They have endured for centuries. They take the time (years, even decades) to train thousands of Russian spec ops forces to be like Americans. From how they hold their weapons, to the way they speak, to the little jokes they make. They set up security contractor firms in the U.S. They get larger and larger contracts for more and more sensitive and high value events, schools, government buildings, TV and Radio, etc. Meanwhile, they infiltrate the National Guards, the FBI, and other government security organizations. In a coordinated attack over the course of a week or so, they seize buildings and kidnap high-level officials in the government, military, and other domestic security agencies. Abroad, they use the confusion and lack of reliable information to freeze the U.S. military into non-action. Wackiness ensues.

There will be some hero who rises from the ashes and leads a rebellion against the Russian oppressors. Spoiler alert: the American people win the war and kick out the Russians. After 10 years of freedom, the leaders of the new country are still working out how to maintain their freedom, how to strengthen their fledgling democracy, and how to do it all without repeating mistakes of the past.

 

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Silent Progress

I have been writing every day. You just haven’t seen the results. First, I have been writing down at least 10 ideas every day on my waiter’s pads. Just like James Altucher recommended. That’s 70 ideas a week. Most of them are bad ideas. After about 12 to 24 weeks, I’m told, I will be an idea machine. We’ll see. At least I’m developing a discipline of writing. Second, I am working on this blog every day. I have two posts in progress that are more long form than you or I am used to. Here’s a super brief preview:

1. What if… an origin story is about my early days as a college student. It includes my introduction to true competition and the culture shock that probably created my dysthymic condition.

2. Broke 30 is a brief history of my recent personal financial woes. This one is turning out to be long because it may be the genesis of an actual book about going from the brink of disaster to a life of abundance (still working on the title).

I will continue working on those two longer posts and may start more. Meanwhile, I will try to post more regularly in the short form – in case anybody cares…

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Writer’s Block

I’m in a writing slump. I don’t believe in writer’s block so I won’t call it that. You may, however, not see anything good out of me until I have overcome the slump. I am always jealous of the people who seem unable to write anything that sucks. My friend Dave, for example, seems always to write interesting stuff. That said, I know his secret. He writes for an hour every day. Every. Single. Day. He’s been doing this for at least 8 years. Nonstop. Nearly (or perhaps more than) 3,000 hours of disciplined writing. Much of it is unreadable, I’m sure. What we get to see is the result of all of this practice and discipline. we do not get to see what he wrote on that random Tuesday three years ago when he was feeling particularly uninspired. Turns out that’s the secret of getting good at anything. Deliberate, every day, long-term practice.

Now go take on the day.

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A Boring Post about Nothing

I have been trying remember to incorporate elements of storytelling into my writing. For today’s post, I was sitting her staring into space trying to think of a recent story I could tell you and how I could use that story to illustrate some broader point. And guess what happened? Nothing. I can’t think of one thing that’s happened today or yesterday that is story worthy. Before I press way back into my past to dredge up a good story, though, how about we address this? What does it mean that I can not think of a good story?

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Side Hustle Fuel

Man in the High Castle, Black Lightning, and The Blacklist. How am I supposed to get any side-hustle work done with all these shows starting back up. Oh yeah, these are some of the creative breaks I take that give me the ideas I need to fuel my side-hustle(s).

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We are Failing at Making our Kids Perfect. Here’s why that’s Okay.

My ten year old daughter and I shot some hoops yesterday after dinner. She wore flip flops. As I got in my car this morning to go to work I was thinking about that for some reason. On one hand I’m glad she is out getting some exercise with her dad. On the other hand, why flip flops? A quick glance into the back seat told me why. Her tennis shoes are in by back seat. She probably has no idea and did not give an ounce of priority to finding them when they weren’t right in front of the door. The flip flops were there; the sneakers were not. Thus, basketball in flip flops.

It occurred to me that her mother and I have done a mediocre job of teaching our kids how to keep track of their stuff. When they finish with something, it just goes wherever they are when they finish with it. She probably changed shoes in the car or something and that’s just where they stayed. We have tried to teach them. Put your stuff where it goes and don’t just lay it down somewhere. That way, when you need it you will know right where it is. We have earned maybe a C- in teaching the keeping-track-of-your-stuff skill.

As I sit here now, I am eating a small salad for lunch that I had to buy from the company cafeteria. Why? Because I couldn’t quickly find my lunch bag this morning as I was rushing out the door. Why? Because I didn’t put it where it goes Friday evening. In the keeping-track-of-your-stuff skill, I am about a solid B-, depending on the stuff. My wife may score me lower, but I am certainly better than some but worse than others.

This led me to wonder whether it is possible – or even desirable – to teach our kids to be better than us at the things we wish we were better at. On one hand, we all want our kids to turn out better than we did. We think (or at least I used to think) that means filling in the gaps we have. In sports, parents want their kids to make it just a little further than they did. In money, we want our kids not to worry about money. We would rather they not fart or swear in mixed company. If I am a sort-of lazy, non-competitive, scarcity-thinking, stinky butt who swears like a sailor, am I really the right person to be teaching them all of this?

Now for the good news. We are excellent at teaching them the things we are good at. Both of my daughters are very creative and hilarious. Our thirteen year old knows that hard work and sacrifice often means the difference between a B and an A… and she often earns As. Our ten year old knows this same connection between hard work, sacrifice, and grades… and she is quite happy with a B, thank you very much. They are both kind and generous and respectful and polite (when it counts). They argue until they forget what they were arguing about and then they keep arguing anyway. They make up as quickly as they started arguing. They care about their health and they care about others’ feelings and they want to spend as much quality time as possible with their family and close friends. The list of things they earn a solid A+ in goes on and on. And guess what? It looks a lot like the combined list of things their mother and I are good at.

I suppose we earn an A+ in teaching the things we are good at. And what about everything else? Well, they’ll just have to pick that stuff up elsewhere I guess. And considering the foundational skills they are crushing, I’m okay with that.

By the way, my ten year old nearly beat me at H-O-R-S-E while wearing flip flops. I’m in trouble.

 

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