Four Days Into This—May 2025
When you progress in a linear fashion, there’s generally a start, a middle and an end. At 40 years old, I’m very much “in the middle” of various trajectories—closing in on 18 years of marriage to my best friend, 16 years of a career in public education, just over 5 years as a communications professional and year 3 of being an alderman (with hopefully four more years to serve another term).
Our vehicles aren’t “brand new” any more, but they’re not in that “old vehicle” realm either. We’ve lived in our house for just under a decade, and the relationships with the numerous friends we’ve made, both old and new, continue to grow stronger.
The thing we have to watch out for in all these realms (and others) is complacency. We’re not tasked with building the foundation anymore. Instead, we’re tasked with sharpening our skills and fleshing out the skeleton of life—something we’ve been doing for a while. The danger lurks when we no longer feel the need to grow.
It’s easy to say that for four decades, life has presented challenges, allowing us to build our character, our lives and our reputations, so now we should enjoy the momentum gained to see where it takes us. This is the danger.
We may be four decades into this thing, but we’re certainly not at the end of the road.
Instead, we’re armed with just enough knowledge and experience to assist others who are tasked with establishing their own foundations so our network of people can prosper from whatever advice we have to offer.
In the same way we were offered guidance from others, shouldering the responsibility of filtering the good from the bad, so they are set to shoulder the same task.
Those linear paths with starts and middles and conclusions are all but a straight lines. They have twists and turns and false starts and express lanes. As we star in our own tales, we also play supporting roles of various importance in the tales of others.
One of the hardest chapters in every story is the chapter where you say farewell to one thing while at the same time saying hello to another.
We trade the comfort of the familiar for the uncertainty of a trail yet to be blazed.
For me at 40, this is nothing new. I’ve experienced this required dance before. As familiar as it can be, it never loses its excitement. The friction experienced when you push against the familiar is one that can raise your heart rate, but is matched with the flutterings of excitement when experiencing the new.
It’s the adventure we live for. Well, at least it’s the adventure I live for. The joys of the new concocted with the bitterness of farewells.
The new for me is experiencing the shift as a parent when the narrative belongs to my children. I’m confident I can handle any change. I experienced many goodbyes by the time I was 10, moving from one town to another as my parents sought new opportunities. I was along for the ride, and I had no problem starting fresh. Leaving old friends behind was painful, yes, but it allowed my spirit and my character to be galvanized.
It wasn’t “out with the old and in with the new” as much as it was steeling myself to develop and grow.
Both of my children are at the ages where they’re facing choices that will shape their futures. The choices they make will affect the opportunities they’ll face. They’re set to experience lucky breaks as well as certain setbacks. They’ll learn lessons that can only be obtained through experience, lessons that will shape their character and impact their future.
Their world is developing in much the same way as mine did. This trek is one that humanity has shouldered since the beginning of time. They will say goodbye to what they’ve known as “young kids” and will begin to build their futures.
And as their dad, I’m excited for their opportunities, but as the old man in their life, I know I’m here to bolster their efforts during successes and to fortify their spirits during the failures.
To deny the gravity of such change is naive, but to cower in the face of the ever-changing wind does not produce the strength needed to be who we’re called to be.
It seems John A. Shedd’s cliche quote is relevant for these moments, moments millions face on a daily basis:
“A ship in the harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for.”
To those facing the end of one chapter and starting new ones: Here’s to weathering the storms of change and to galvanizing our character.
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