A conversation with a man in treatment challenged the way I think about identity. We all carry labels, but they don’t have to define who we are. This reflection invites us to ask a simple question: Who are you today?
Even after years of recovery and public speaking, the voice of self-doubt still visits me. I’ve learned that growth isn’t about making that voice disappear. It’s about learning that I don’t have to believe everything it says. Fear may still come along for the ride, but it doesn’t have to drive.
One of the lessons recovery has taught me is that support and understanding are not always the same thing. The people who love us most may not fully understand our experience, while those who understand it may not be part of our everyday lives. Both matter. Both have value.
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.
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.
Golf will test your patience — not just with your own swing, but with the actions of others. Just like life, people will sometimes “hit into us” — push too hard, disrupt our peace, or act in ways we think they shouldn’t. We can’t stop that from happening. What we can do is decide whether to feed the anger or to step aside and play our own game with presence.
