I read in a survey that the average American only has 15 “perfect days” per year. When I first came across these words, my eyebrows furrowed. A “perfect day”—What does that even mean? Is it the same for everyone? Different? Is it measurable? And why are there so little of these days that we’re truly experiencing? Continue reading
I still remember the bright glimmer of the Lake Tahoe water reflected back with a shine in the whites of our eyes. We were sharing the same extra-large towel, two bodies only having met a few hours earlier, connected under that warm summer sun. This moment I remember so vividly—his long hair tossed over broad, tanned shoulders; the light warming our faces; the sound of his laugh. It was love, yes, but in the strangest way. It wasn’t that I wanted to lean in and kiss him, to draw his body closer to mine. It’s that I wanted to hold his heart in my hands, lay there and just listen to the sound of his voice.
I loved who he was as a person, I loved his soul.
He had turned to me, pouring stories of his past. I could tell by the way his eyes looked away over the water that he was heartbroken—he didn’t have to say her name for me to know.
He was dying—epilepsy—every seizure taking his strength, but not his heart.
I watched the way his mouth moved, comforted by the sound. And in that moment, I did not have words. I just listened. Realizing that he, even with his numbered days, knew far more about living than I did. Continue reading
Last night my friend Abraham and I met to record our podcast. And like we normally do, we start by talking about what’s on our mind to generate a topic that’s both real and pressing in our lives. As we sat in my little one bedroom apartment, the lilac air freshener giving the place a subtle ‘homey’ vibe, I thought of a woman who messaged me over Easter weekend, talking about her long distance relationship. She had come to me for my honest, unbiased opinion on the dissolving connection. “He’s just busy,” she said, giving every excuse in the book as to why he hadn’t texted her in days, hadn’t answered her calls. As we messaged back and forth, she came to the realization, though, that his busyness didn’t really matter.
What mattered, at the end of the day, was effort. And he wasn’t putting any in.
As I read her messages, watched her put these pieces together in her own mind, I couldn’t help but think of countless times in my own life, in the lives of people I love, where we made excuses for someone we cared about. Moments where we lied to ourselves about what they were really doing, or how we actually felt. Moments where we were too afraid to lose what we might not even have, we stayed silent. Moments where we settled.
And in thinking about this woman and her story, my own story, the countless stories of both men and women I’m close to, I got fired up about the idea of ‘busyness.’
The truth is, you are never ‘too busy’ for the people you care about. Continue reading
Have you ever felt like your life was on fast forward, hurrying to get to the next thing, next day? Like there’s something missing, something you’re so close to grabbing within your palms? Like you’re almost, but not quite there?
What is that thing? Is it success or money? A job you love? A person you’ve been longing for? Is it the life you’ve always wanted, just slightly out of grasp?
Are you going after something at all, or is this just a relentless pursuit of more? Continue reading