You Just Never Know

Every weekend I like to go for a long run, so last Saturday when I was in Alabama on the Nootbaar Institute’s “Faith & Justice” trip, I left the hotel about 6:45am to explore. I soon noticed several other runners, a surprising number, and then noticed they were all wearing racing bibs. I then rounded the corner and stumbled upon a road race preparing to start. 

I asked one of the runners about the schedule, and he said that a half-marathon was starting at 7am, and a 5k would follow at 7:15am. I looked at my phone and saw that it was 6:50am. After two seconds’ worth of thinking, I raced back to my hotel, up to my fifth floor room to snag a credit card, then back to the race site to see if I could register for the 5k. The gun for the half-marathon went off just as I made it to the registration table, and I was the last person to register for the 5k. Once registered, they provided a bag full of race goodies, which led me to realize that I had nowhere to store it, so I ran back to the hotel a second time to store it during the race, then raced back to the starting line just a few minutes before the 5k began.

There were 500+ runners in the 5k, and I may not have been fully awake, but when the gun went off I took off and won my old-man age group and came in maybe 10th or 11th overall. Life is just funny sometimes.

I’m not 100% sure why I’m telling you all this story. Maybe just an encouragement toward physical fitness. But maybe the encouragement is this: When you walk out the door each morning to face another day, keep your eyes open — you just never know what you might discover.

Good Night, and Good Luck

“Sleep is the single most effective thing we can do to reset our brain and body health each day.” – Dr. Matthew Walker, Ph.D.

In early 2015, I asked the following question to Pepperdine’s law students: In comparison to when you first entered Pepperdine School of Law, how would you now describe your practice of rest (e.g., time off, relaxing, Sabbath)? The results: 40% indicated no change; 19% answered stronger; but 41% said weaker. When disaggregated, 52% of first-year students said their practice of rest was poorer than when they started law school. I was not even close to surprised. As the Australians taught us children of the Eighties to say: Been there, done that.

But I was never happy about it. Last semester, nearly a decade later, after discussing sleep troubles with a new law student, I decided that I should at least try to learn something about sleep, so I tracked down a book: Why We Sleep: Unlocking the Power of Sleep at Dreams, by Matthew Walker, Ph.D. I don’t know enough about science to confirm its veracity (there have been critics and controversy), but I do know that after reading it, now I’m having trouble sleeping. But because I don’t want to leave you out of the misery, let me share some of the disturbing (though sometimes cool) information that I read with you. You’re welcome in advance.

For starters, and on a positive note, all animal species seem to sleep, and part of why we humans are awesome may be because of our unique and natural sleep patterns. Specifically, compared to other primates, we sleep in a bed or on the ground instead of perched on tree branches, which allows us a disproportionate amount of REM sleep (the sleep when we dream) because the body is completely paralyzed during REM sleep, which isn’t a terrific idea if you are perched on a tree branch. And while in the cool facts portion of my essay, Walker claimed that the reason we are completely paralyzed during REM sleep is so that we won’t act out our dreams!

Our inordinate amount of REM sleep seems to set us apart in a couple of major ways: First, it heals and helps our mental and emotional health; and second, it enhances our creative and problem-solving abilities. Remember being told to “sleep on it?” Actually, great advice! Although in fact, all sleep phases are beneficial, and messing with any of them causes actual brain impairment.

The human body is fascinating. Just before a baby is born, its amount of REM-sleep is at an all-time high, approximately twelve hours a day. In year one, that declines while deep NREM sleep begins to increase, peaking just before puberty before retreating. The deep NREM sleep during childhood is sculpting the brain, but we all probably remember that it seems like construction halts during the teenage years when all sorts of irrational silliness ensued. Actually, the brain is still maturing then, but rationality is the last to arrive on the scene. Sleep then naturally settles into a predictable pattern in early adulthood. When left to our natural tendencies, human sleep is apparently “biphasic”—about seven actual hours of sleep at night, followed by an hour nap in the early afternoon—but that train apparently left our sociocultural station a long time ago.

In all our societal advancement, however, we have apparently created ways to screw up everything. Have you ever wondered why American life expectancy sucks relative to our immense economic and medical resources? The myriad ways we have created to destroy natural, human sleep patterns and a fingers-stuck-in-the-ears-while-bellowing-la-la-la-la-la-in-the-face-of-research posture toward the importance of sleep may be teensy reasons worthy of consideration.

O sleep, how do I screweth-uppeth thee? Let me count a couple of ways: Darn Thomas Edison for saying let there be light when there shouldn’t be light, and darn alarm clocks (and especially snooze buttons) for daily shocks to our hearts and nervous systems, sometimes multiple times a morning, telling us to get up when we aren’t done sleeping. And since REM sleep is disproportionate toward the end of the seven-to-nine hours of daily sleep we reportedly should be experiencing, about half of all adults in developing countries may be missing out on the unique human benefits that purportedly helped us develop in the first place.

And the consequences are tragic: Weakened immune systems, including an increased risk for certain cancers. Contributions to depression, anxiety, and suicidality. Impaired memory (and while I’m on memory, sleep aids memory both before and after learning, so all-nighters for work or school may be completely counterproductive). Cardiovascular disease. Increased propensity for weight gain, obesity, and developing type 2 diabetes. Drowsy driving—a driver that got up at 7am and heads home from the club at 2am without a single drink is reportedly just as impaired as a legally-drunk driver.

The result? As Dr. Walker wrote, “Relative to the recommended seven to nine hours, the shorter your sleep, the shorter your life span.”

Now we aren’t completely oblivious to our sleeping problems, but it seems that we are unfortunately ignorant to both the extent of the problems and the actual solutions. We typically mitigate with substances, including sleeping pills and/or alcohol and/or caffeine, that can actually do real harm instead of help.

So, what can I do about this to help our law students? I’ll have to get back to you on that one. This seems to be a larger problem than my present work environment, so that’s a major challenge to undertake. But I like major challenges. And it seems far too important to ignore.

What I will do is share with you my summation of the twelve tips for healthy sleep that Dr. Walker shared from the National Institute of Health at the end of his book and hope that someone finds them helpful:

  • Go to bed and wake up at the same time every single day.
  • Exercise, but not too late in the day.
  • Avoid nicotine (period) and caffeine in the afternoon/evening.
  • Avoid alcohol before bedtime.
  • Don’t got to bed too full or too hungry, and avoid beverages late at night.
  • Avoid medicines that disrupt sleep as much as possible.
  • Don’t nap after 3pm.
  • Do something relaxing before bed (not on a phone or computer).
  • Take a hot bath before bed.
  • Make your bedroom dark, cool (e.g., 65 degrees), and gadget-free.
  • Get at least 30 minutes of natural sunlight each day (ideally, an hour each morning).
  • If still awake in bed after 20 minutes, get up and do something relaxing until you are sleepy.

To quote the late, great Edward R. Murrow, “Good night, and good luck.”

Hopeless Romantic

Does “hopeless romantic” mean that you cannot help but be romantic? That’s my impression. Could it be instead that you have no shot at ever being very good at it? Asking for a friend.

My life posture is to invest in the community I find myself in, which is far less complicated if you do not move around the country every couple of years. It is difficult leaving people and places that you love, but fully investing in a new community means, for me at least, that I cannot devote too much attention to the rearview mirror. Being wistful for days gone by can be debilitating, but every once in a while, a thought will sneak in from the past that makes me wistful anyway.

Somewhere in our North American tour after leaving Los Angeles in 2019, I’m sure it was around Valentine’s Day, I got all wistful when remembering a tradition that I developed while here in the City of Angels when I would get up even earlier than normal on Valentine’s Day, beat the crazy traffic to Downtown L.A., and snag a parking spot near the Los Angeles Flower District. The Flower District advertises “a spectacular and unequaled array of the freshest flowers, greens and fillers available, many of them California grown, along with an impressive, overwhelming selection of floral supplies.” All I know is that they have a heck of a lot of flowers and that I felt the strong need to go there each year and buy my wife roses for Valentine’s Day.

I understand that you can order flowers in many ways that are far more convenient than driving to Downtown Los Angeles, but I found that I really missed the inconvenient approach. Getting up extra early was never a problem on those occasions. There was something about the experience itself that made it wonderfully worthwhile. Not the shopping or purchasing process so much (actually, I was always utterly confused while there), but the whole idea just felt special.

This year, on our first Valentine’s Day since moving back to L.A., I knew what I had to do.

I arrived at the Flower District at 5:52am on Valentine’s Eve, utilized what appeared to be a legal parking space, and stepped into the craziness. As expected, I was soon overwhelmed. It was dark and yet colorful, and I felt like I joined a swarm of ants attacking an unattended slice of red velvet cake but that I was the only ant unaware of where I was going. I noticed lots of duos carrying long, Christmas-tree-sized cardboard boxes, and they definitely knew where they were going. I’m not sure who all was represented in the swarm, but I assume wholesalers and vendors, small business owners and growers, and maybe even silly husbands like me, although I can’t be sure. I simply wandered in and out of shops, deflecting all the can-i-help-yous until I saw what I wanted, which was news to me, too.

Was I supposed to barter? Well, I didn’t. The price quoted was less than what I would have paid ordering those flowers from the comfort of anywhere other than in-person in Downtown Los Angeles, so I just handed over the cash. Thankfully, I am freakishly tall; otherwise, getting out of the chaos carrying a large vase of roses might have been even more eventful, but by 6:16am, I was back in my car and on the road, driving home one-handed to protect my floral purchase through the burgeoning automotive ant swarm.

I made it home an hour later and proudly presented the roses to my wife, who smiled and laughed the sort of laugh that says, “I am married to a certifiable idiot, but I think he must really love me.”

Which was the reaction I hoped for.

To be candid, I don’t think I am a hopeless romantic under either definition. I like to think of myself more as a hopeful romantic—hopeful that I will be better at it along the way.

Given such a goal, I am glad to be reunited with the Flower District.

Good Moments

Malibu Pier on Thursday Morning (2.8.24)

I woke up two minutes early, turned off the alarm, and crawled out of bed at 5:28am, glad to go for a run, while never excited to crawl out of a warm bed in the darkness. I exercise daily, but once a week I drive to Malibu Colony Plaza in search of a flat place to run that also has easy parking. I like it there, although I do not care for the early morning darkness in the winter months. On Thursday I was glad to notice a slight hint that the light of spring is coming.

I stretched a bit and took off as normal, trying to wake my legs up, too. My pace is always measured at first, careful not to start too quickly, but on that morning, I soon added a short sprint as I dodged leftover rain puddles alongside the dangers of PCH traffic.

Near the Malibu Pier, I noticed what appeared to be an unhoused individual on the sidewalk ahead, lurking, if you will, in the shadows. I often visit with unhoused people, so this was nothing extraordinary, but knowing that many battle mental illness makes me a little wary in early morning encounters. I noticed that this young man was gathering his things and shuffle-jogging ahead, presumably to get out of my way, so I gave him a wide berth and passed by with several feet between us. We exchanged good mornings, and I added a how’s-it-going, which, although a standard greeting for me, may not be the most thoughtful question for an unhoused man carrying a large pack on his back before six o’clock in the morning. But his response, half-shouted with what I can only describe as great joy, and spoken like he was glad that someone asked, was, “I’m doing f***ing great!”

Well, alrighty then. I was glad to hear it. My mind began to cycle through options for why he was doing expletively great at such an hour, but ultimately, I just chuckled and took it at face value, thankful that he was having a fantastic morning.

After reaching the halfway mark I fist-bumped a power pole and turned back, now in a much better mood, and at some point, encountered my new friend again where I said, “Have a good one, friend.” He replied, “You, too, brother,” with “brother” said in a way that led me to believe that if I immediately fell and busted my head open, I was 100% convinced that this man would take care of me like a brother. I can’t explain how I knew that from a word spoken in passing by a stranger, but I knew it to be true. What a warm and peaceful thought in the forty-degree weather.

At the Malibu Pier again, thanks to ever-lighter skies, I stopped long enough to take a picture, then took off for my final mile of the morning. I may get my runner’s card revoked for this confession, but I don’t think I have ever felt a runner’s high; however, when I started running again, I felt like a deer bounding through the woods, bouncy and strong, and that last mile was phenomenal. I don’t know that I have ever felt better on a run

My short drive home felt very different from my short drive there, and when I pulled into the neighborhood it seemed that no one else had even stirred from their slumber. Before the sun had truly risen, it felt like I had already had an incredible morning.

I felt the need to write about that first hour of Thursday morning but wondered about the moral to the story. Why should anyone care about that first hour of my day?

Maybe the moral is that who needs a moral to a story when you stumble on anything good? In a life that can be too cruel too often, notice all the good moments. They seem to get us through the rest.   

Thoughts as I Watch It Rain

It doesn’t rain often in Southern California,
but when it does it’s a pretty big deal.
Headlines appear,
roads shimmer,
cars spin,
mud slides,
and people tend to lose their ever-loving minds.

The playoffs are rare in Detroit City,
but when in town it’s a pretty big deal.
Jerseys appear,
tickets inflate,
excitement builds,
parties proliferate,
and people tend to lose their ever-loving minds.

Not many people win the lottery,
but when they do it’s a pretty big deal.
Relatives appear,
interviews occur,
purchases transpire,
plans change,
and people tend to lose their ever-loving minds.

A hole-in-one can seem impossible,
but when it happens it’s a pretty big deal.
Astonishment appears,
laughter erupts,
joy abounds,
celebrations begin,
and people tend to lose their ever-loving minds.

I think of all the things that I haven’t done—yet.
They may seem impossible,
but if they ever happen, it will be a pretty big deal.

And that’s enough to keep trying.

Obstacles appear,
critics scoff,
fear mounts,
hope wanes,
and I want to lose my ever-loving mind.

But I won’t quit.
The wait just might make it better.

Snail on a Track

PC: Al Sturgeon (Malibu, California)

Laps on a track can be tedious for a runner, especially when you can almost sense the nearby beach and mountain trails wondering why you are running in circles instead of enjoying their spectacular views. So maybe I was just bored and looking for entertainment when I noticed the snail there on the track with me. Now I’m not known to be fast, and I don’t want to brag, and pardon me for being crass, but I was absolutely kicking that snail’s ass—if snails have asses. Again, not to brag, but in the time it took me to run twelve laps — three miles! — the snail had only made it across two or three lanes. Regrettably, I don’t think the snail even knew that you are supposed to run on a track in a circular fashion, so its lack of progress was sort of embarrassing. I just couldn’t break the news, but I kept watching on each lap, and that silly snail kept right on going.

I myself was on the track because I am a fifty-three-year-old man whose decades of poor posture produced a year of terrible lower back pain. The pain was so intense that I thought running was over for me entirely. Done. Kaput. Sayonara. But, surprisingly, I have been inching back toward where I would like to be as a runner. Inching, well, I guess, yes, now that I say it out loud, at a snail’s pace. I was specifically on the track that day to take it slow and easy so that I could continue for the long haul.

Huh. Interesting.

Maybe the snail and I have a lot in common after all, beyond our striking features. Stubbornness, for starters. Or, to place it in a more positive frame, perseverance. Confucius reportedly said, “It does not matter how slow you go so long as you do not stop.” I’m not 100% positive that Confucius spoke English, but I’m trusting this is somewhere in the neighborhood.

My primary physical talent is that I do not like to stop. That can often be a negative characteristic in multiple life areas, which is worth considering on another day, but today I celebrate the good in that part of my constitution. I may not be the smartest or fastest or strongest or funniest or best-looking or mechanically-inclined or able to leap even small buildings in a single bound – okay, a bit depressing to go on recognizing all the things I am not – but I have always been able to keep on moving, even when it hurts, and even when it is slow going. Sometimes, maybe that’s a pretty great thing.

I guess a snail running track can be quite inspiring when looked at from the right angle. When we gauge ourselves not by flashy victories but the ability to persist toward a destination, maybe we can be pretty inspiring, too.

It just occurred to me that the snail may have been crossing the track the entire time I was there simply to line up for the mile run. I wouldn’t be surprised, and if so, you go get ‘em my new snail friend.

Moving Over

If this condo is the last place that I live in this old world, I don’t think I will be missing out on anything. That’s how sucky I think moving is at this point in my life.

When I was born among the dinosaurs back in 1970, my parents brought me home to a tiny rental house on West Mueller Street, which also served as my port of departure when I packed a happening yellow beige Pontiac 6000 and drove away to college in 1988. In the thirty-five-plus years since, it feels like all I have done is move.

Just in college, I lived in one dorm, two houses, and four apartments, followed by yet another apartment upon my return from college. Next comes marriage, and in our thirty years together we have lived in sixteen “homes” in five states. Our longevity record for a single address is five-and-a-half years, and that was the house that was destroyed by a hurricane, which at the time seemed a possible sign that we should keep moving to avoid being smacked by the universe.

Thus, I repeat: If I never move again, it seems that I have enjoyed just about all that there is to be enjoyed about the experience.

We returned to California last summer, which actually turned out to be a unique move for us. We moved to a tiny apartment, really a hotel room, expecting to move back to one of our old neighborhoods at some point in the year ahead; so, for the first time we rented a PODS container to ship most of our stuff directly to a storage facility in California. About six months later, a.k.a. a few weeks ago, we moved to our new condo and had the PODS container delivered where we fully reacquainted ourselves with the joys of moving: cardboard; hand trucks; cardboard; assembling beds; more cardboard; furniture movers and navigating stairs; so much cardboard.

My wife and I came to the same independent conclusion: Moving ever again sounds like a terrible idea.

Our situation is interesting: If we ever retire from our jobs at Pepperdine, we are required to sell our condo and move somewhere else again, which means, if you’re playing along at home with me, that our future offers two real scenarios—we can die, or we can move again. I’m just saying, here among the cardboard, that dying does not sound like such a terrible choice.

Oh, I know that I’m just getting old. And that I have a faulty memory, which I understand will not necessarily improve with more aging. There will be a point, I’m sure, when I forget what seems clear right now, and moving yet again is not completely out of the question. But my goodness the list of things I would rather do than move just grew exponentially.

Um, so you are planning to move again? Oh. Congratulations. Well, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about.

Rain or Shine

I remember that it was a driving rain, not the occasional sprinkle that SoCal folks like to call rain. It was the sort of rain that I normally wouldn’t run in, but I did that day simply because it was my last chance and others expected me there. What I did not know was that my regular running buddies had invited others, just for me, and it warmed my heart when ten friends showed up to run “The Strand” with me in the driving rain.

I discovered The Strand way back in 2010 when I resumed running after a twenty-plus year rest stop. Back then, I wanted to move beyond running circles on a track but needed somewhere flat, which wasn’t too easy to find around Malibu, and a friend told me about a special place where she did her marathon training. I checked it out and fell in love instantly. In the early days I ran alone, but eventually my friend, Jeff, tagged in, and before long we had a beautiful variety of folks along for the run, and I loved it. That final run in early 2019 was special to me, posing for a picture with ten great friends, all smiling and soaked to the bone, there as a sweet gift to me.

I suppose that I thought I might run it again someday. We left a daughter in California in 2019, so I knew that we would visit, and I probably thought that I would have a chance to run it again. But I could not have anticipated the curves in the road of life over the past five years, and by the time we made the surprising decision to move back in early 2023, due to back trouble, I wasn’t sure that I would even run again, much less on The Strand.

But today, I did. Six glorious miles, nearly five years later. Maybe Mother Nature is nostalgic because it almost rained me out, but the sun popped out like a giant surprise just as I took off, and I dodged the flooded parts of the path as I ran down memory lane.

To be candid, I had decided that it would be okay if I never ran again, including The Strand. Aging and injuries help readjust your expectations of life. But I felt wistful every time I drove by and kept the goal in mind, and I am glad that I had a chance to do something that was special to me—again. I know enough now to admit that I might run it hundreds more times, or never again, and either way is okay. But I guarantee you that I will appreciate each opportunity, should they arise.

As I ran, I remembered a lovely poem from a dark poet, Raymond Carver, who expressed his desire to go down to the ocean and see the sights one more time, at least. He wrote:

I hate to seem greedy—I have so much
to be thankful for already.
But I want to get up early one more morning, at least.

And go to my place with some coffee and wait.
Just wait, to see what’s going to happen.

Exactly. I hate to seem greedy, too, but my posture will also be facing forward, hoping for the chance to go to my favorite running place one more time, at least – rain or shine.

2023 List of Books

I don’t remember why I started counting how many books I read each year (narcissistic tendencies?), but for whatever reason, this is my seventh consecutive year to keep track. I wish I could declare a “book of the year,” but I am proud of the diversity represented in this year’s booklist, and there are just so many that are so good in so many different ways. Suffice it to say that in the past year, thanks to the authors below, I have traveled through time and space, experienced deep pain and silly laughter, learned new lessons and remembered old ones, and encountered both desperation and inspiration. I’m grateful for it all.

FICTION

  1. The Color Purple by Alice Walker
  2. Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach
  3. The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho
  4. The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
  5. Annie John by Jamaica Kincaid
  6. Something to Do with Paying Attention by David Foster Wallace
  7. Oblivion: Stories by David Foster Wallace
  8. Jazz by Toni Morrison
  9. Later by Stephen King
  10. The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton
  11. Box Socials by W.P. Kinsella
  12. Cost of Arrogance by H. Mitchell Caldwell
  13. Morgan’s Passing by Anne Tyler
  14. Cost of Deceit by H. Mitchell Caldwell
  15. Democracy by Joan Didion
  16. Let Us Descend by Jesmyn Ward
  17. A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle

NONFICTION

  1. The Little Book of Restorative Justice for Colleges & Universities by David Karp
  2. Basketball (and Other Things) by Shea Serrano
  3. Free Cyntoia by Cyntoia Brown-Long
  4. The Terrible and Wonderful Reasons Why I Run Long Distances by The Oatmeal
  5. Telling the Truth by Frederick Buechner
  6. Father Flanagan of Boys Town: A Man of Vision by Huge Reilly and Kevin Warneke
  7. The Other Wes Moore by Wes Moore
  8. God, Human, Animal, Machine by Meghan O’Gieblyn
  9. Bettyville by George Hodgman
  10. Why Won’t You Apologize? by Harriet Lerner
  11. Liturgy of the Ordinary by Tish Warren
  12. Life Worth Living by Miroslav Volf, Matthew Croasmun, and Ryan McAnnally-Linz
  13. Dusk, Night, Dawn by Anne Lamott
  14. Failures of Forgiveness by Myisha Cherry
  15. A People’s History of American Higher Education by Philo A. Hutcheson
  16. The Grace of Troublesome Questions by Richard T. Hughes
  17. The Second Mountain by David Brooks

POETRY

  1. Good Poems: American Places by Garrison Keillor

Merry Christmas, Generally

I like Christmas, generally.

Some friends dread each Christmas, not in a mean-spirited Grinchy-Scroogey way, but more from the awful feeling of deep grief or loss. I can feel their sadness and always hope that their Christmases pass quickly.

Other friends are just too jolly for my bowl full of jelly. They find Christmas the hap-happiest season of all, and I don’t begrudge their happiness. I’m happy for them like I hope they’re happy for me after I get all giddy about something they don’t understand, like going for a long run.

Some friends celebrate other holidays, or no holiday at all, and I honor and respect all of their traditions and choices. It’s important to me that they know that I do.

Me, I celebrate Christmas, and I like it, generally.

It’s a season of giving, and I like that, but it’s also a season of getting, while what many end up getting is left out. Sort of a good-news, bad-news type of deal I guess.

And Jesus’s PR team is predictably active this time of year, which is maybe cool seeing that I could not be more in on Jesus, but truth be told, given some of the messaging, I sometimes wonder if Jesus missed the strategy sessions.

And I like that a lot of folks get a nice break for the holidays around Christmas time, but I recognize that many others are expected to work more than ever.

So I guess I am a little conflicted around this time of year. But all in all, I like it, generally speaking.

I like all the sparkling lights shining in the darkness, and the hot cocoa to bring warmth in a season of cold.

I like hearing someone with a musical gift perform O Holy Night and how i involuntarily close my eyes and feel my heart flutter.

I like the unexpected memories of what it’s like to be a child, and how that takes me back to a time when my parents were alive and well.

I like that my grown up, adult, independent daughters still come home for Christmas, get up on Christmas morning in their pajamas and gather with their parents as our little family of four, somehow still happening after all these years.

Yes, those are the gifts that I really, really like about Christmas, the gifts that outweigh all the other stuff.

So whatever holiday you celebrate this time of year, if any, please know that I wish you light, warmth, peace, hope, joy, and love—all the sentiments found on all the holiday cards. As for me, I will celebrate Christmas, and if you ever wonder, you can rest assured that it’s something that I like, generally.