Have you ever looked at someone’s life and thought, “They’ve really done life well”? This reflection is about the comparison spiral, the would-have/could-have/should-have loop, and coming back to the present.
New Year’s can quietly turn into a pressure cooker. A reflection on the “clean year” myth, happiness as a checklist, and choosing small returns back to what’s real instead of more pressure.
For a long time, I did not enjoy being alone with myself. This reflection explores the difference between being alone and being lonely, and what changed along the way.
Many of us wear a smile that says “I’m fine” even when something inside is not. This reflection explores the quiet cost of pretending, the masks we learn to wear, and the relief that comes when we find places where honesty is allowed and being human is enough.
In 2004, a backdraft tore through the church I served as a pastor. I walked away unharmed, but the moment uncovered deeper truths I wouldn’t face until years later in recovery. This week’s reflection explores what that day revealed—and what life is still teaching me now.
I’m a former Christian pastor who now aligns with Buddhist principles and practices, and this reflection shares how I got from one place to the other. My journey isn’t a blueprint—it’s simply an honest look at where life has led me.
Meditation has quietly shaped the way I move through my life — helping me stay present, loosen my grip on old stories, and respond with more clarity instead of reactivity. This reflection explores the two simple practices that continue to anchor me, both in recovery and in everyday life.
Last weekend, Emily and I were in Chicago — and it just happened to be marathon weekend. Watching the runners brought back a flood of memories from my own eight Chicago Marathons. What stood out most wasn’t race day, but the training — the quiet, consistent miles that no one sees. Those “treadmill days” taught me that the real work happens long before the finish line.
On one of those long solo runs years ago, something clicked: the most important mile isn’t the one ahead or behind — it’s the one I’m in. It’s the only mile I can enjoy, and the only one I can do anything about. That truth has carried me through recovery and through life — a reminder to stay present in the mile I’m living right now.
For most of my life, I held tightly to old identities — pastor, perfectionist, the one who had it all together. Letting go of those versions of myself wasn’t weakness; it was freedom. In this reflection, I explore the paradox of surrender and the unexpected liberation that comes when we release who we thought we had to be.
