Phillip Berry | Orient Yourself

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September 27, 20265 min

The Whisper of the Seasons, the Passing of Time

“Pop.” I awoke to Cooper’s whisper but when I opened my eyes, he wasn’t there. Disoriented for a moment, I realized I was coming out of a dream which was simultaneously real and surreal. Moving into my morning routine, walked down the stairs to a house that was lit by the full moon casting its reflected sunlight through windows in the front and the back. Looking into our backyard, I could see shadows cast from trees and every detail of bush and grass and flowers remnant with the fading blooms of summer. “Pop.” His soft whisper was still in my ears as the machine ground my coffee and shot hot water through the espresso puck automagically pressed into the unseen basket. The luxurious indulgence wasn’t lost upon me as I pressed the AirPods into my ears and prepared to begin the quiet time of reflection that marks the beginning of each day. Asking my grandson later if he remembered saying my name in a dream, he smiled and shrugged as if to say “maybe.” Cooling temperatures and cloudy moodiness marked our transition into Fall this week, marking the beautiful shift of season with the precise timing of a conductor waving the orchestral movement deftly into the next act. We don’t always get such a clear demarcation of the change but there was no hesitant limping into autumn this year. Looking at the thermometer this very moment, I see 44 degrees. The perfect temperature to hold bright moonlight and a reflection on seasons changing. Earlier in the week, I heard my name called as I was walking across a parking lot. I turned to see a friend in the lowlight of the parking lot and the predawn. The seasons were written across his face. Not necessarily age – it was the passing of time and struggle and life all blended – beautifully and a bit sadly. It felt like a mirror to my own season and I felt the gravity of it; the weight of the thin veil where this world meets the next. His sharp features seemed carved, rough hewn from stone; distinct, worn, and elegant. It really was a beautiful weathering and his stoic, keep walking forward personality, intensified the effect. Later in the week, I found myself talking with the father of teen girls and the sense of seasons came upon me again. The distinct era of becoming that we all must pass through to find our adulthood and the necessary maturity it demands. As he spoke of those girls and their activities and personalities, it was his becoming that I saw within the stories reflected in his eyes. It was my becoming mirrored in those days long past. Another time. Another season. That same night, a young couple spoke of their little boys and a future that might invite a baby girl into it. Yes. Yes, I remember. The building years of figuring out marriage, family, homes, and careers. What was that in their eyes? Ah, yes, that’s the future. A future where it’s all still in front of you. The unknowns of choices yet to be made and surprises yet to be encountered. Yeah, there will be more than a few curve balls and much of it will take them in unexpected directions. Thank God. A post appeared on LinkedIn this week in which a young professional was sharing the story of an encounter with a well-known leader now in the twilight of his life and career. The closing remark from the veteran: “I would do anything to be 30 again.” Thinking of my own season at 30, I must confess that I don’t share his musing. Don’t get me wrong, that season wasn’t a bad season; I don’t feel regret at missed opportunities or dumb decisions that I would like to change. No, I simply don’t feel drawn to doing it over again. Watching third graders play football yesterday, another season came upon me. Coaches coaching, parents parenting, and almost all of my grandchildren present on field, playground, and in Nanny’s arms. Some of my children, grown and adulting in their various fields of endeavor, chased, held, and encouraged in this multi-faceted mirror of my life and its past seasons. “Pop.” I heard Cooper’s whisper again. This time, reminding me that this is the most important season. Right here. Right now. In the moonlit quiet of the morning, a distant train whistle sounds. Is it announcing an arrival or a departure? Or perhaps it’s a warning. A haunting reminder of the great danger of its passing – its coming and its going are heavy things. Or maybe its a different reminder. The reminder that on is the only direction. On to the next city. The next station. The next season. “Pop.” Thank you, Coop. I’ll remember to enjoy this season while it lasts.

September 20, 20267 min

Because I Love You

The post below was written in March, 2021. One of the truly beautiful things about such reflections is returning to them with new eyes. A quick survey of nearly fourteen years of posts yields so many learning moments worth relearning…or at least remembering. A great gift of our human journey is the opportunity to meet ourselves in new ways in old moments revisited. Why did this post find me at this time? It’s not clear to me at the moment, but I relish the journey to its revelation. Enjoy. Because I Love You – March 2021 Have I ever mentioned that my grandchildren live a few houses away from us? It is truly a blessing. As we were walking earlier this week, our 3 1/2 year old grandson ran out of his front door (as mom watched) to greet us and let us know that he wanted to walk with us. A few steps into our journey, he asked if he could come back to our house. I asked, “Why do you want to come to our house?” “Because I love you,” he replied. After pulling myself together from where I had melted right there on the sidewalk, I wondered, how does a three-year-old learn such things? On one level, it makes sense: he loves us, why wouldn’t he want to come over? However, when you consider the list of reasons a little boy wants to do anything, would you expect that “love” would be at the top of the list? The 3 year old’s list might be: I want to read books. I want to play “knights” I want to watch a movie I want to eat treats I want to run around in the backyard I want to look for worms in the garden I did not expect “Because I love you.” Again I asked, how does a young child learn such things? The answer was clear as I realized that he lives in a place where: He hears them He sees them He lives them That little boy is a sponge. He is absorbing everything around him. Good or bad, exciting or scary, attentive or ignoring, giving or taking, loving or indifferent. As he absorbs, so he projects. He knows love. He knows what it looks like, what it sounds like, and what it feels like. With that kind of foundation, he can build an amazing life. From that start, he already knows what it means to be successful. Think about it, everyone around us is receiving what we project. They experience what we give, what we don’t give, and what we take. What awesome power. You are helping to form those around you by simply existing. In being who you are, you’re shaping everyone who comes into contact with you. What a staggering responsibility. The profound innocence of little children makes such an example easy to see and provides the inspiring warm fuzzies of heartfelt emotion. What about everyone else? The challenging teen? The annoying neighbor? The dramatic mother-in-law, the struggling co-worker, or the son who refuses to grow up? Or, the average person on the street? Projecting positive energy, love, and encouragement are a lot easier when we are getting even more in return. Let’s face it, most of us are more willing to project positive energy into an unknown vacuum than into the known of a painful person who annoys us every day. Yet, the awesome power to project good and the staggering responsibility of it remain. You are a transmitter and you are on every time you interact with another human being. Your facial expressions, energy, words, and actions are being cast upon the world around you persistently and the human beings within that world are absorbing all of it. What are you telling them about yourself? What are you telling them about themselves? What are you telling them about the world they live in? Recently, a professional acquaintance commented to me that he appreciates my posts. I’m always a little surprised to receive such comments as they usually come from people who I little suspect notice anything I might be sharing. He went on to say that he appreciates what I write because he doesn’t feel like I’m trying to sell him anything. Translation: “I’m used to getting hammered by asks and click-bait from those claiming to want to build a “relationship” only to discover the pitch behind the facade.” We are inundated with the transactional and the message is “you have value to the extent that I get something I want from you.” Then, we respond in kind. We all do this. In one way or another, almost all of us make a living by asking others to buy what we’re selling. After a time, our transactional attitude can become a really bad habit. When we reduce the value of the individual to the benefit we receive from them, we create an empty place in our own humanity. And theirs. I’m not saying we need “meaningful” relationships with everyone we meet nor I am saying that transactional interactions are “bad” in themselves. My point is this: YOU are affecting everyone around you in one way or another. YOU are helping to shape the kind of person they are becoming and how they view the world. YOU have a responsibility to use that power for good. And finally, WE can all do better. Would you like a pleasant surprise from those around you? Surprise them first. Would you like to be loved by those with whom you interact? Love them first. Would you like to see those around you doing good, being good, and living good? Do good, be good, and live good first. After we’ve emptied ourselves of our posturing and machinations, given all of the love we can muster, and offered the last ounce of our very best, then we might begin to see it reflected in the world around us. Here, we might finally walk into the world to find the very good for which we’ve always hoped and when we ask “why?” hear the response: “Because I love you.”

September 13, 20266 min

To Be SENT Forth

Last week, I had the opportunity to attend the SENT Ventures Summit in Denver. The Summit is an annual event that brings Catholic builders (business and ministry) together to share, learn, and encourage, along the way to building world-class ventures that blend operational excellence with living Christian values. This year’s event encompassed keynotes from leading voices on numerous topics – AI, organizational leadership, faith and family, meaning and purpose, finance and investment – as well as opportunities to meet and mingle with faithful strivers from around the world. The Summit did not disappoint. SENT Ventures CEO, Nick Madden , kicked-off the Summit by sharing some of the origin story of SENT. John Cannon founded the organization to inspires entrepreneurs through the lives of Saints like Frances de Sales and Mother Cabrini who built ministries that not only served the world, but were world-changing in scope and scale. Madden characterized the Summit as not only a place to learn, but more importantly, an opportunity to experience “holy collisions” with other builders and faith-filled leaders working to change the world through their particular mission field in business or direct ministry. Dr. Jonathan Reyes , Founding President of the Augustine Institute opened by framing our movement into modernity over the last 200 years as a shift from societies ordered to relational principles to societies ordered to functional principles. This movement toward technology and productivity, massive cities, and centralized institutions has created significant isolation as human beings moved from being valued for who they are to being valued for what they can produce. Reyes presentation wasn’t so much a critique of history as a call to business leaders to put relationship over function in the organizations they are building. Author Patrick Lencioni followed with a discussion on Working Genius, his model for team development and collaboration. Lencioni described the six forms of “working genius”: Wonder, Invention, Discernment, Galvanizing, Enablement, and Tenacity. Each of us is strong in two of the categories, competent in two of the categories, and weak in two. In this case, strength and weakness are more about the things we do that are life-giving versus those things that drain us. Really interesting aspects of his model are its independence from role and its process orientation – it gets to the heart of creating a high-performance team by having the right combination of types of genius collaborating. Louis Kim facilitated an interesting AI discussion with panelists Taylor Black , Vincent Higgins , and Matthew Harvey Sanders . The title of the session was AI, Technology, and the Human Person. A core concern of these leaders was the centralization of power in the hands of a few AI powerhouses – not only the direction and development of the technology but also the processing power itself, as the biggest organizations buy-up available processing capacity, thereby pushing out competition. Panel members also referenced “new” and “old” paradigms of work and the role of human beings, suggesting that the very idea of work and career were rapidly changing as the capabilities of AI-driven machines evolve. There was way too much to tackle in a few sentences, but I walked away both troubled by AI trends and hopeful in the massive opportunity to harness this technology to augment individual human beings in helping humanity become more human. A conversation for another post. I had the opportunity to introduce Arthur Brooks on the second day of the Summit and he did not disappoint. Author and Social Scientist, Brooks walked the audience through what he sees as an “age of emptiness” and the opportunity for each of us to find meaning and purpose. His book, The Meaning of Your Life , provides the details but his was an entertaining journey through updated discoveries on left and right brain thinking, the doom loops we find ourselves in, the dangers of our phones and distraction, and mechanisms for transcending yourself. There are two particularly compelling insights he shared during his talk and in his book. One is how he characterizes the differences between complicated and complex problems. Complicated issues are the ones we solve through effort, structure, design, intention – left brain thinking. Complex issues are right brain challenges that are not things to be solved but things to be contemplated and lived – relationships and mysteries. He argues that distractions keep us from shifting into the deeper, more transcendent, right brain thinking that helps us come closer to finding our meaning and purpose. The other compelling insight he shared was around two questions he likes to ask students: Why does your life matter? (Why are you here?) and What would you die for? Brooks has found that many of his students are unable to answer these questions in any meaningful way and even those who can answer one of them often struggle as they really contemplate the other. Beyond the obvious (my children, my spouse, etc.) what would I die for? These questions get to the heart of meaning and, having spent some time honestly reflecting upon them, I have found them to be great starting points for firing-up some right brain thinking. Obviously, there was far too much to effectively summarize in a few paragraphs. However, this post offers a few breadcrumbs for those who may feel compelled to dig a bit deeper into some of the topics and speakers. For me, many holy collisions occurred at meals, in hallways, during Mass, and in the unexpected moments of encounter that mystically happen when we put ourselves in such places. My main takeaway was that, despite the many discouraging elements of our world and the culture of division that seems to dominate headlines and newsfeeds, there are many, many, people who are working to live faithful, hopeful, and world-changing lives in their mission fields of business, ministry, and charity. And I find that truly encouraging.

September 6, 20266 min

What Is It ‘To Know’?

One of the fascinating aspects of the onslaught of artificial intelligence has been the evolving debate around what it means to be human. At its most basic level, it seems absurd that there is any debate, after all we all know a human being when we see one. But AI has evolved to such a point of emulating human language and thinking that humans have begun to interact with it as-if it were another human being. This is both fascinating to consider and frightening to behold. In a recent podcast, I was asked about the human beings with whom I work in the context of this age of AI. My simple answer centered on human beings as creatures made in the image of God, possessing mind, body, and spirit. I emphasized the soul as imbued with the Divine Spark and the special dignity given to us by our Creator. The debate being held at the “frontier” of AI around what it means to be human is simply a reflection of man’s never-ending quest to make himself God. This brief post cannot unpack the philosophical implications of AI nor adequately address the opportunities and dangers of this technology. It is just one more powerful technology amid many discoveries that demand virtuous stewardship and careful prudence so that a great good does not become an instrument of destruction. Today’s post is about sharing a few of my thoughts on “knowing” to spur your own thinking on AI, its implications, and how you might more wisely approach it. St. Thomas Aquinas wrote that we come to know through our senses and our ability to reason. We experience the world through sight, smell, touch, and sound, then find understanding in how our rational minds order and perceive those inputs. We come to know things through our own experience of them. Through the gift of language, we can order, recollect, and share experience. In this way, we can come to know things that we do not experience directly. Through this sharing, we can see places we’ve never been or understand mysteries we’ve never solved because language allows us to capture collective knowledge. Much of what we come to know is passed along in this way. AI emulates our way of knowing by sifting through massive amounts of data extremely fast and ordering it through algorithms, models, that make it sensible to us. Its ability to process language in this way enables it to return results quickly and in sentences and structures that mimic the way we communicate. The software doesn’t know, it processes. It gives the illusion of knowing through raw speed, volumes of information, and the ability to create and communicate conclusions by summing those results in ways that make sense to us. In the Abolition of Man , C.S. Lewis writes of the Tao , the term he uses to characterize natural law and objective values. He argues that mankind across time and cultures has always held certain values like honor, virtue, and duty as sacred and right. These values are hardwired into our DNA and, regardless of creed or religion, are held to be universally true and good by human beings. But how do we come to know this? Do we know because of a volume of human affirmations summed up in collective history, a large enough data set, that says so or because there are other ways of knowing? In An Essay in Aid of a Grammar of Assent , St. John Henry Newman argues that human beings have an intuitive mental capacity that allow us to weigh cumulative probabilities to arrive at certainties not demonstrated conclusively by formal logic or proof. He calls this the illative sense , a blending of intuition, past experience, conscience, and reasoning into a recognition of truth. This kind of knowing is not the result of a massive data set but of a deep and mysterious journey into the depths of the physical and metaphysical senses – a different kind of knowing. Can a machine know? Can it see, smell, hear, touch? To know, experience, feel, intuit, judge, discern, be moved, and love is uniquely human. As is to take responsibility, to feel empathy or sympathy, to care, or to project oneself into an imagined situation. These are aspects of self-awareness, of living in the physical and the spiritual, of encountering and being human. They are not calculations, result sets, or probabilities, but the culminations of the unique human experience. There is great danger in the appearance of awareness in a machine and its potential to engage the human desire for connection and affirmation. There are also opportunities, but they can only be properly realized if we can maintain clarity on what it means to be human and the God-given dignity present in His gift of life. A machine cannot know us as we are; an algorithm cannot see us, love, us, touch us, or care for us. But it can tell us what we want to hear. And it can do that because another human being gave it the language to. Fact or feeling? Faith or trust? Stop for a moment today and reflect upon what it is to know and the many things you can intuit. There is a vast difference between knowing based on your senses and experience, and anticipating based on the ability to rapidly sort, process, and calculate billions of human language data points, and serve up structured responses. These are things worth knowing. And remembering.

August 30, 20264 min

An Eagle When She Flies

She’s been there, god knows she’s been there She has seen and done it all She’s a woman, she knows how to dish it out or take it all Her heart’s as soft as feathers, still she weathers stormy skies And she’s a sparrow when she’s broken But she’s an eagle when she flies I heard Dolly Parton’s song, Eagle When She Flies , for the first time the other night. The song appeared during an evening of catching-up and kitchen dancing that spontaneously appeared – one of those nights when life pauses for a few minutes to give you the gift of a great exhale. The song and moment were fitting, Dolly Parton had died a couple of days before and the headlines and newsfeeds buzzed with images and stories of her life. It seems that even the sharp edges of division that mark our cultural landscape give way to a unified outpouring of grief and admiration for this American icon. Parton’s death also created a great exhale for our country which has endured a year of headlines full of war, tragedy, and antagonism of virtually all flavors. In the mysterious way that seemed to mark Dolly’s life, even the sadness over her death was overshadowed by the luminous hopefulness and success of her life. Her rags to riches story reflects the American Dream in profoundly virtuous tones encompassing success in entertainment, business, philanthropy, and her 52 year marriage to Carl Dean. The song, An Eagle When She Flies , was written by Parton for the movie Steel Magnolias in 1991. Though not used in the movie, it was the title track of her 1991 studio album. A kaleidoscope of colours, you can toss her round and round You can keep her in your vision, but you never keep her down She’s a lover, she’s a mother, she’s a friend and she’s a wife And she’s a sparrow when she’s broken But she’s an eagle when she flies Sally knew the song and enthusiastically sang along with Dolly as she danced around our kitchen. Listening to the music and lyrics, I thought about the simple wisdom and sense of self-reflection conveyed in this anthem to the softer side of the feminine genius. Our world doesn’t always celebrate woman as lover, mother, friend, and wife, but Parton memorializes it beautifully, and it was made powerful in my hearing as Sally embraced it as her own. Dolly’s massive career success alongside her longstanding marriage only deepens the power of her song. Gentle as the sweet magnolia, strong as steel her faith and pride She’s an everlasting shoulder, she’s a leading post of life She hurts deep, and when she weeps, she’s just as fragile as a child Steel and magnolia make such a contrasting pair which is exactly where the profundity occurs. Like Dolly’s own charm backed by what was undoubtedly a deeply stubborn strength, we are treated to that glimpse of the both/and in a femininity lived to beautiful fullness. And she’s a sparrow when she’s broken But she’s an eagle when she flies She’s a sparrow when she’s broken But she’s an eagle when she flies Oh, bless her, Lord She’s an eagle when she flies Today, we’ll trek to a small town in Indiana to celebrate my mother-in-law’s birthday. A steel magnolia in my life for over 38 years, I see her in my wife and in my daughters. This birthday for her marks 17 years since the love of her life passed from this earth and I think of her own journey of sparrow and eagle over that time. As successful as she was, Dolly’s life was also marked by loss, but isn’t that the way of it? The stormy skies did come, but the eagle within found a way to soar. This seems a good day to exhale. To take a moment and savor the breath of distance and storm and sunny horizon. The great stories of struggle always offer that soaring moment, the one beyond the rain and the wind and the suffering. Gone from us at 80, but celebrated for a life well-lived, well-loved, and well-given, Dolly reminds us that, in its final telling, the sadness gives way to the beauty of the story. And that is worth celebrating.

August 23, 20266 min

Breakfast, Strategy, and a Culture of Humility

I was recently asked to react to a series of common business platitudes. One of the firing-line expressions was “culture eats strategy for breakfast.” The expression is frequently attributed to famed management guru Peter Drucker, though a quick search indicates that the attribution is probably not true. However, I think the expression is meant to reflect much of the spirit of Drucker’s writing: a great strategy will amount to little if an organization has a poor or toxic culture. Personally, I’ve never cared for the line as I think it sets up an apples and oranges comparison. They are not opposing notions thought they are interdependent. My basic reaction to the line was that an organization needs strong versions of both. Culture gets to the why of an organization and the how of its operation – it’s essence. Strategy is about direction. Without strategy, even a great culture may end up down the wrong path. Without a strong culture, strategy is hollow as the center cannot hold. But what makes a great culture? At its most basic level, a great culture begins with clear meaning and purpose. The “why” of an organization is critical to unify those within it and help them understand where they fit in. This reason for being sets the tone for decisions, and strategy, giving the team a worldview from which to operate. From there, the “how” things get done becomes the next layer as it frames the operating manual of the day-to-day. The essence of the organization appears in how employees align with the core purpose and consistently behave in ways that reflect a set of shared values. It’s not just what we do, it’s how we do it. There is far too much to unpack around culture in a brief blog but a couple of employee posts this week have me thinking about it. A compelling part of culture can be the feel-good, camaraderie-building sentiments of projects completed, goals attained, and human encounters that move and motivate us. Various forms of success or a sense of progress are fantastic for the spirit of an organization and feed the desire to push-forward toward greater things. But the highlight reel is only a glimpse of the elemental movements necessary to create a strong, sustainable culture. There are thousands of individual choices and reactions that ultimately define a culture and project its essence into the world. What struck me about the two posts I saw was not any look-at-me highlights or back-slapping, self-congratulatory virtue signaling, or posturing. There was no sales pitch, hyperbole, or let-me-show-you-my-smarts fluff. Amid the celebratory tone of the two posts I reference above was an unexpected and rare signal: humility. Not the false humility of “I am so humbled by….” you name it recognition or award. No, I saw real self-deprecation and deference to something greater. To a meaning and purpose beyond self-interest. That’s no small thing. Look around. The world is full of answers. Our culture demands that we have them and seemingly promises to reward those possessing the answer, the solution, and the secret. I get a constant flow of pitches from strangers telling me how much they can help me be better, lead better, make better decisions, make more money, and build a better culture. My feeds are loaded with endless streams of folks promising answers, bugling success, and. criticizing all the ills of the system they find themselves in. Whatever the industry – the same pattern plays out. In an age of unbridled pride, vanity, and envy, humility is like a cup of water to one thirsting in the desert. In fact, it is a super-power. Humility says, “I don’t have all the answers.” Humility admits, “I can’t solve all the problems.” Humility recognizes, “You might know something I don’t know.” Humility sees the good in others, doesn’t need the headline, and can admit when its wrong. Can one foster a culture of humility? Not the false-humility that pretends to be less than it is in the name of virtue-signaling, but the kind that recognizes what it knows, why it exists, and aims for something beyond itself. The kind that can be strong in its knowledge, insights, capabilities, and compelling story, while admitting when it was wrong, where it needs more work, and what someone else did that was really good. That kind of humility creates room. Room for new ideas. Room for better solutions. Room for heart and spirit and unity. It also creates room for others to grow. Such humility makes space for things to grow in unexpected, organic, and inspiring ways. Unplanned, unmapped, and unimagined. Humility isn’t really something you can teach or produce or enforce. To be true, it must be real. It is the uneasy space of I don’t know and I’m not there yet, mingling with the conviction of yes we can and here is the way. It defers to the better idea while arguing for what it knows to be right…still allowing room for the answer to an unexpected blind spot. Deference to something greater than yourself. That is so very hard. But it is so liberating. It turns out that being the center of the universe is really quite exhausting. As is having to be right, knowing all the answers, and constantly correcting everyone else’s faults. It seems that we’re not inclined toward humility and living it takes persistent effort. Like many great movements within us, it is one we cannot fabricate – the more we try to grasp it, the more elusive it is. Maybe it begins with choosing the other over ourself. Maybe it grows by letting go of the need to be right, always getting what we want, or demanding all that we deserve. Perhaps a culture of humility does eat strategy for breakfast.

August 16, 20267 min

Are They Really A Series of Unfortunate Events?

A young family in our neighborhood recently had to vacate their house due to a mold problem. The mold had settled in their HVAC system and for many months had been pumped into all corners of their house, contaminating virtually everything. Watching over the course of a week as workers from the remediation company gutted their home was heart-breaking. Curiously, a couple of our own family members are dealing with smaller versions of the issue as condensation from HVAC ductwork has caused staining, sagging, and even some areas of mold and mildew to appear on ceiling drywall and near vents. The slow, extended nature of such issues makes them particularly tricky to recognize until damage has been done; fixing the issue is just the beginning as clean-up and repairs can be extensive and expensive. In the 2004 movie, A Series of Unfortunate Events , the three young Baudelaire children are found on a beach and notified by stranger of a “most unfortunate event” which he goes on to say is the death of their parents in a fire. Of course, the gross understatement is itself a key element of this dark but entertaining tale that pits the three orphans against a scheming relative (played brilliantly by Jim Carrey) who is after the fortune of their parents. The story centers on a series of increasingly outlandish efforts by Carrey’s character, Count Olaf, to secure guardianship of and then manufacturer various “accidents” to eliminate the children and give him their inheritance. The movie follows the children’s uncanny ability to outsmart and outmaneuver the Count despite the inability of the various adult guardians, neighbors, and relatives, to see his nefarious motives. To get close to the children, the Count uses a host of disguises, fooling the adults in the story, but never fooling the children, who struggle to get anyone to believe the crazy stories they’re telling. Watching this movie with my own grandchildren last night night, I caught a glimpse of myself in those adults around the Baudelaire children. Now 48 hours into full-time hosting five of our very young grandchildren while their parents are away, my eyes have been opened, or should I say re-opened, to the many blindspots of my adulthood. Here are just a few of them: Children see, hear, and remember, way more than you realize . When it comes to children, know that every comment, story, joke, side-glance, promise, and negotiation, has been written down, recorded, archived, and backed-up in those little machine minds. No AI needed here, they have an immense capacity to consume everything, possibly even those things you are only thinking, and then repeat it back to you when you least expect it. Energy is only a scare resource for adults . I am pretty sure that the Energizer Bunny concept came from a parent or grandparent who was given the clarity of reality in a moment of vision. Watching these children for a full 24 hour cycle made one thing clear: there are only two modes, on and off. From the waking moment, it is game-on and their minds and bodies do not stop until the gas tank is empty…about 18 hours later. Thinking I might grab an afternoon nap – I carried our three-year-old granddaughter up the stairs after she fell asleep during a walk, however, I was quickly corrected as requests for a mint and Scooby Doo began as soon as I had shut my eyes. There truly are guardian angels . Without unduly frightening our adult children who still trust us to watch their children, let me just say that there is no question in my mind that each of these children has a full-time angel watching over them. Everything is an adventure . When did I lose my imagination? I once thought of myself as creative, but I now realize that my sense of the imaginative is a speck of dust compared to the mountainous imaginations of my grandchildren. Every stick is a sword, every balloon on the end of stick is a magic wand, every piece of paper a canvas, every mundane living room a wrestling ring, and every dollhouse a world of life and wonder. Even my boringness as an adult male is turned to wonder in my ability to serve as a horse, a target, or a jungle-gym. Though these few glimpses seem obvious in the writing, I realize how quickly and easily my eyes grow scales to the wonder that lies before the eyes of children. I hear the door open to the stairs to my study and can only imagine the words that will follow as whichever child comes to greet me. Pitter patter on the steps and then the hesitation at my door – someone is sneaking up on me…and I am reminded that there is no joy like the joy of surprise. Why do I forget these things? In the closing scene of A Series of Unfortunate Events , the eldest Baudelaire child, Violet, opens a letter postmarked before the death of their parents. It turns out that the letter was sent by their parents as they were traveling abroad. Amid the inspiration and the love, there is an insight that seems like it might require the eyes of a child to see: “ At times the world can seem an unfriendly and sinister place, but believe us when we say that there is much more good in it than bad. All you have to do is look hard enough. And what might seem to be a series of unfortunate events may, in fact, be the first steps of a journey. “ Returning to the sorrow of the young family being forced from their mold-contaminated home, I suddenly see the consolation they must feel having identified the answer to the mysterious illness which had been plaguing their young children for more than 12 months. For them, the unfortunate event of the mold discovery has opened the door to hope in complete health for their children. A new, and exciting, journey indeed. As for the first words of my pitter-pattering grandchild coming through my study door this morning? “Good morning, Poppy. I’m not going to have a mint right now because Nanny says I should have a waffle for breakfast.” Good morning, my love. That is a great idea, we can have a mint later. Another day and the adventure continues.

August 2, 20265 min

First Mover or Fast Follower? There are Always New Edges to Explore.

This week-end, my five-year-old grandson, Fulton, decided he was ready to ride a bike. I can’t really speak to his decision process. From my vantage point, there was very little forethought, discussion, preparation, practice, or arm-wrestling with doubt. He literally got on a bike and started riding it. There was some faltering uneasiness and the necessary cycles of finding his balance, but in very short order and with zero fanfare, he was riding circles around our cul-de-sac. Of course, this spontaneous feat was not really spontaneous – he had been working on it for a long time in how he played, practiced balancing, and developed his own confidence in things unknown. Ultimately, he just decided he could, so he did. How did he get to that decision? Long before he had come to the decision, and confidence, that he could ride that bike, he had seen his older siblings doing it. From early-on, he knew it was possible. Following this thread a bit further, one can easily argue that much of the daring, confidence, and apparent fearlessness, that has marked his young life stems from his birth order and the efforts he has made over his five years to keep up with his two older siblings. As number three, he has been given the great freedom of knowing with absolute surety the many things that are possible. In 2022’s Top Gun: Maverick, Naval Aviator Pete Mitchell is tasked with preparing a team of “Top Gun” pilots to complete what looks to be an impossible mission: destroying a heavily protected nuclear site, deep in enemy territory located in a mountainous crater, and guarded by missile batteries and “fifth-generation” fighters. None of the pilots is able to complete the test mission within the time and terrain parameters until Mitchell shows them it is possible. Since the beginning, human trailblazers have tested the limits of the possible in all spheres of human endeavor. From crossing the Atlantic, to running a four minute mile, to breaking the sound barrier, to acing the SAT, and on to putting a man on the moon, human progress has been marked by the firsts necessary to show the rest of us the way. However, none of it was spontaneous and the paths to all firsts are marked by failure and the learning necessary to make the leaps. But, once we see it can be done, the universe opens in new and often surprising ways. There is an incredible freedom that comes with the breaking of what previously looked like a barrier. The mind suddenly stops asking if a feat is impossible and shifts to wondering what else is possible. It’s no longer about the crazy idea of sitting on a little seat wondering if one can balance between two wheels while pedaling. In the knowing we can, we begin to think about where we might go and how fast we might get there. We are liberated to imagine to the next barrier…and beyond. The curious thing about progress and innovation is that it is never in a flash of individual brilliance or a vacuum of independence. Forward motion is cumulative. Sure, there are moments of insight and discovery, but they always begin where some other insight or discovery led. There was always a first barrier broken before we were led to the next one to be conquered. There is great freedom, and comfort, in recognizing the cycle of human progress. Those limits we see might not be as far off, or as scary, as we first think. Those changes on the horizon might not be as radical or the demands of change as painful as we may fear. It’s unlikely you can remember a time when you didn’t know how to ride a bike. Or when you couldn’t talk. Or when you couldn’t walk. Those leaps of development that we now accept as part of growing-up were once unimaginable. At least until we heard or saw someone else doing it. This week, take a look at those places you fear to tread, those thoughts you hesitate to think, or those dreams you resist dreaming. Sometimes the truly crazy thing is closing our eyes to the possibilities for which we were made.

July 26, 20267 min

Laughing at the Edge. The Energy is in the Motion.

Living Water The clear, cool water rushed downstream. Following the narrow canyon, the stream moved over rocks, through small falls, into the nooks of boulders, and then eddied back into the fast moving flow. The steep stone wall of Mt. Zion rose before us, and the colors of moving shirts could be seen above as people hiked through the wooden flume that used to carry water down the mountain to Golden and its inhabitants below. The day was clear and the sun cast warmth across stone and path and person along the trails and waterways of this mountain ecosystem. Sitting on a boulder in the sunshine, bare feet resting within the stream, we took it all in. The pines of the mountain before us, gave way to the scrub of Gambel Oak and Mountain Mahogany on opposing, sun drenched slopes, as hawks and swifts and hummingbirds floated overhead, their calls lost in the rumble of the rushing water. “Ahhh, the living water,” Sally remarked, reminding me that the moving water of the stream holds more oxygen than still water; a factor fostering high-energy marine life like salmon and trout, and creating a self-cleaning, pollution preventing environment, conducive to all forms of other animal and plant life. Living water. As human beings began to show up, lining the rocky creek shore in chairs and towels, then moving along and within it just like a day at the beach, I thought of the powerful draw of such living water. Cool, clear, and life-giving, we are instinctively pulled toward it in a primordial sense of survival, a necessity that has given way to recreation and joyful thriving in our land of plenty. Listening to the laughter of children playing in the water, and the squeals of delight from those tubing further down the stream, I felt the rhythm of something deeply elemental in this simple excursion to cliff and canyon. Were They Laughing? Walking down the canyon path a little later, we met a parade of children on bikes racing downhill at break-neck speed. At the front was a boy, probably eight years old, followed closely by a younger brother and sister, then two even younger boys on balance-bikes, looking tiny and far too small to be traveling so fast on such an incline. Not far behind came two young mothers, one pushing a stroller and one with an infant strapped to her in a carrier. They chatted with each other nonchalantly as their children disappeared around a bend downhill – clearly this was not a first-time adventure. Shortly thereafter, we turned another bend heading down toward the base of the trail, when we heard more squeals of delight behind us, this time the crew was led by one of the smaller boys on a balance-bike tearing downhill, his face a mixture of terror, joy, terror, delight, and his voice laugh-screaming as he held the little bike at the edge of control – his little Crocs scraping the path to slow and help steer. Somehow he avoided major mangling waiting just beyond that control, and the other children barreled along right behind, making all kinds of noise as they raced down the hill. This time, both mom’s appeared, moving a bit faster, as we all caught up to the kids simultaneously, finding them safely pulled to the side of the path. Looking at us with a grin, one of the mom’s apologized in her British accent, “I’m sorry if they ran you off the path.” Returning her smile, Sally laughed a reply about the wildly impressive breakneck speed sustained at the edge of control. The mom didn’t miss a beat, responding with a broadening smile: “Were they laughing?” Yes. Yes, of course they were. They were fully alive at that edge. Later in the day, we chased a bit of that edge on a pair of e-bikes, racing down the same hill. I’m not sure if the kiddos hit 25 mph or not, but it sure brought a smile to my face. The Front Range Moving into the evening, we found ourselves reclined in a pair of Adirondack chairs, watching the sun set behind Mt. Zion and listening to the bluesy tunes of a musician named Luke. Shadows danced across the mountainsides while the clouds gathered and dispersed in a white-gray eddy, giving the scene a surreal texture. We were tired but it was a good tired. The living water that had replenished foot and muscle earlier, rushed across our minds as we spoke of the marvels of the day and the pressing sense of tomorrow. The day before, we watched as a young couple exchanged wedding vows against the backdrop of a fairway extending toward jutting rocks aimed at an unseen future. The joy and celebration of such beginnings mask the beautiful struggles ahead, and the uncertainties remain blissfully lost amid the laughter, toasts, and music. Rightfully so. Such moments are sacred, to be held close for the moment they’re given, and remembered in the times when the laughter has gone quiet. I think of that young couple and the threshold of their future. How fitting to begin the path here, a mile high at the base of the Front Range marking the westward entrance into the Rocky Mountains. Peaks to be faced, climbed, conquered; only to reveal the higher peaks beyond. It’s hard not to be swept-up into the sensation of that edge: the epic sky over seemingly endless mountains, and the countless possibilities lying within and beyond. There is an immensity in the moment and the metaphor – a call to adventure and adversity. Were they laughing? Yes. Yes, of course they were. This is the awe and wonder of the front range, the great edge of life where we find ourselves most fully alive, racing down the mountainside, trying to keep a handle on the control that’s never completely ours. Living in the thrill of the unknown and the uneasy laughter of fear as we are plunged into the living water, energized by oxygenation that can only happen in the churning and rushing of its own movement. Forward. That is the only direction we are given. The water, the path, the ups and downs of the mountainsides – they all lie forward. Ahead, beckoning. The energy is in the motion. The oxygenation comes in the froth and churn. The life is given in the living. Wherever we find ourselves, may we all see our front range today, and the invitation it offers. The living water beckons, and though it does not promise calm smoothness, it does promise life. And life abundantly.

July 19, 20265 min

Hidden Threads of the Good Life

Threads. The many colored elements of life which seem to appear randomly, then reappear curiously, until finally revealing some aspect of a greater tapestry that can only be seen with time, distance, and perhaps the flash of insight. Interestingly, the “thread” element has recurred for me in multiple places this week, prompting some reflection on the nature of these strands that often link the seemingly unrelated signals of our lives. Reading a book in a hotel room a few weeks ago, I found myself struggling to get into it. I was interested in the topic, the table of contents revealed focus and order that appealed to me, and the author’s general worldview seemed to align with my own. I literally put the book down and asked myself, what’s the problem? My conclusion was style. The word choices, the sentence structure, and the flow just weren’t working for me. Talking through it with Sally later, she suggested that perhaps his was more of a speaking style that, when converted to the written word, didn’t resonate as well with me. May we all have such generous voices to sometimes counter-balance our lesser tendencies. I put the book down and moved on. Introducing a speaker at an event last week, I shared some anecdotal observations on my own experience with her as a student in one of her classes. “One of the key things Dr. Ordway taught me was to approach any written work with intellectual humility so that the author’s insights might be understood clearly and received without our own bias.” Intellectual humility. Hmm. That lesson from her class had been filed away, like so many learnings, as one more part of my mental library, appreciated, collected, and put on a shelf. Reflecting on that thread of learning shelved so many months ago, I thought about the book I had put down. Was it quality of writing that barred my way or my own biases? My mind wandered to another classroom in another era. The year was 1985 and I was a new student at the very large John Marshall high school in San Antonio, Texas. I was in an English class full of “honors” students who all seemed to me to be so worldly, knowledgable, and confident. I was in 11th grade and didn’t know what to expect of an honors class but one sense of it was provided by Mrs. Clanton in an early admonition to her students: beware of your own intellectual arrogance. Returning to July 2026, John Adams came to mind. An intellectual and articulate giant of the American Revolution, his great convictions were often burdened with the weight of his own pride and vanity, which frequently needed buffering by his wife, Abigail. A line from Abigail in the HBO series John Adams, sums it up: “John, you must be patient with those you find less intelligent than yourself.” Laura Linney deftly delivers a message that is at once sincere, tongue-in-cheek, and profound. You are smart but it is not about being right and your pride hampers your effectiveness. More threads. Returning to the lessons of Dr. Ordway, I remembered what followed in the “why” behind the need for intellectual humility. We must receive, understand, and see the reality of what is being shared, before we can properly judge it. If we don’t approach with humility, our own preconceived notions, conclusions, and biases may block us from a deeper, unseen truth. It may or may not be there, but we will never know if we don’t allow ourselves the opportunity to discover it by suspending judgment until we’ve received its reality. We all have a great need to be right. This fundamental disposition is the most basic element of pride and a great barrier to peace, joy, and enlightenment in our world. C.S. Lewis wrote of the “heart” as the human organ of discernment, the ability to judge rightly. A well-formed chest is able to recognize truth and act virtuously in response to it. Approaching a text, an idea, or an argument, with intellectual humility is pre-empting the prideful comparison of my rightness and your wrongness in order that we might see reality before making judgment. It is an act of virtue and requires great self-discipline. It is also very difficult. Author and academic, Jordan Peterson offers us a guiding principle in Rule 9 of his 12 Rules for Life: Assume that the person you are listening to might know something you don’t. Another great thread in the weaving of a Good Life.