Tag Archives: life

An Uncomfortable Truth

Posted on June 27, 2025 | 5 comments

I published an article in The Smart Set in early 2024 titled, To Binge or Not to Binge: That Is the Question, and my friend, Sandi, responded by suggesting a couple of books by Michael Easter. Not wanting to binge (ha! not really, I have no excuse), I waited a year before finally accepting her excellent advice and recently finished, The Comfort Crisis: Embrace Discomfort to Reclaim Your Wild, Happy, Healthy Self. Now, I wish I would have read it thirty years ago (but since he published it in 2021, I can’t really beat myself up).

The opening lines inside the dust jacket frame the question that Easter seeks to answer: “In many ways, we’re more comfortable than ever before. But could our sheltered, temperature-controlled, overfed, underchallenged lives actually be the leading cause of many of our most urgent physical and mental health issues?”

I hate to spoil it for you, but the answer according to the author’s research is Yes. In the long arc of human history, no generation has had more tools in the Comfortable Toolkit than ours — and yet we don’t seem to be better off for it.

So, what to do? How do we live balancing a natural desire for (and immense pressure to experience) constant comfort with a realization that this is not in our best interest? Well, if you are open to further spoiling, Easter intersperses five practical themes along the way:

  1. Rule one: Make it really hard. Rule two: Don’t die.
  2. Rediscover boredom. Ideally outside. For minutes, hours, and days.
  3. Feel hunger.
  4. Think about your death every day.
  5. Carry the load.

I’ll make you work for it and read the actual book to get all the good stuff about each suggestion, but today I will share what is bouncing around my head and heart about each one:

MAKE IT REALLY HARD. DON’T DIE: I prefer the easy/fast/pleasant way. Like Goldilocks, I want everything “juuuust right.” From this moment on, I will remind myself that nothing worthwhile comes easy and choose to make “hard” a habit. Attempt things that scare me. Not succumb to cowardice. Embrace oppressive heat. Experience bitter cold. Test my limits. Chase the impossible. I want to keep at least one (non-fatal but crazy-challenging) life goal in the hopper at all times.

REDISCOVER BOREDOM. IDEALLY OUTSIDE. FOR MINUTES, HOURS, AND DAYS. I prefer entertainment. I like to keep busy. From this moment on, although the smartphone, laptop, and television are necessary evils in my world, I will learn to accept that necessary is the adjective and evil is the noun. I will turn the television off. Leave my phone in another room. Spend more time outside. Spend more time in silence. Go for long walks. Practice a Sabbath. I want to incorporate intentional boredom into my daily, weekly, and annual routines.

FEEL HUNGER. I prefer not hurting. I like the feeling of satisfaction. From this moment on, I will remember that there is also a positive definition for being “hungry.” I will grasp the difference between want and need. Learn to wait. Avoid the unnecessary snack. Practice portion control. Refuse the impulse purchase. Do without. I want to master the ability to feel hunger without resorting to instant gratification.

THINK ABOUT YOUR DEATH EVERY DAY. I prefer life over death. I like to revel in the illusion that I can emerge from all things unscathed. From this moment on, I will remember that I am a speck in a vast universe and not the center of it. I will acknowledge my mortality. Value each and every day. Not waste time. Live with intention. Worry less. Smile more. I want to (finally) learn how to appreciate and live in the present moment.

CARRY THE LOAD. I prefer traveling light. I avoid walking with a heavy load. From this moment on, I will emphasize getting strong. I will no longer make excuses to avoid strength training. I will challenge neglected muscles. Embrace pain. Experience soreness. Overcome weakness. Do my part. I want to be the best version of myself so that I can pull my weight.

I need to face the uncomfortable truth that being uncomfortable is necessary for a healthy life and that avoiding discomfort is, in fact, counterproductive. Accepting that truth will not be easy, but it will be worth it.

As Albert Camus once said, “In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer. And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, there’s something stronger — something better, pushing right back.”

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Lunch in Bismarck, North Dakota

Posted on June 14, 2025 | 5 comments
Sitting on a cliffside bench on the Maah Daah Hey Trail overlooking the Little Missouri River and the North Dakota Badlands

I am never short on plans and ideas, so when my wife mentioned that our youngest daughter invited her to fly to Europe to hike the last seventy miles of the famed Camino de Santiago with her this summer, I considered various options for my own solo vacation. Several came to mind, and when I asked my wife which sounded least interesting to her, she chose the road trip through North Dakota and into Eastern Montana. So that became my summer vacation. Jody wasn’t sad to miss out.

If you wonder, a road trip across North Dakota and into Eastern Montana allowed me to cover states number forty-four and forty-five on my bingo card, and it also provided the opportunity to add a few epic runs (and photos) to my growing collection, which included the Lake Wobegon Trail (Minnesota), Maah Daah Hey Trail (North Dakota), and Makoshika State Park (Montana). Adding states and running trails were the reasons I had the trip in the hopper.

But it turned out to provide much more.

It also introduced me to the North Dakota Badlands, which is a giant miss for globetrotters unaware of such a breathtaking place. And I discovered the Medora Musical, an outdoor production that is both fun (e.g., wonderfully talented performers in a spectacular setting) and strange (e.g., cheesy mascots and regular voice-overs from the deceased creators of the show sixty years ago) and simply too much to truly put into words. And it led me through the Theodore Roosevelt National Park where I encountered majestic bison wandering down the highway, a zillion adorable (maybe?) little chirping prairie dogs, and stunning wild horses posing on hillside pedestals.

I crossed the Mississippi River, the Missouri River, and the Yellowstone River. And I stayed in sketchy hotels and dined in country restaurants and ate raspberry sorbet in front of a tiny new ice cream place that can never make enough money to survive even though I tipped well. It was my own version of a special two-thousand mile roundtrip.

It also provided a moment far less magnificent but much more meaningful.

On the first leg of my journey home, I stopped for lunch at a Chick-fil-A in Bismarck, North Dakota. Other than the chicken, of course, there is nothing very special about stopping for lunch at a Chick-fil-A in Bismarck, North Dakota. But as I sat there alone in a crowded restaurant, I had an unexpected personal moment. For some reason, I thought of little me growing up in Arkansas, who even with quite the imagination never pictured that I would someday be eating a fast food lunch in Bismarck, North Dakota. I’m not sure I can adequately describe how that realization struck me.

I get that you might find it sad, this man in his mid-fifties eating his grilled chicken tenders alone. Others there probably felt that way about it, too. I, on the other hand, found it deeply satisfying. Of all my own personal critiques of my life, one of my favorite parts is the large number of unexpected places that my journey has led. That was the sweet thought that occurred to me there: Who would have thought that I would ever be in that place at that moment? I know that I didn’t, and that is exactly what made it special.

I don’t know, maybe that’s just a definition of wanderlust. Regardless, that moment made the entire trip worthwhile.

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Peak Color

Posted on October 21, 2024 | 4 comments
Door County, Wisconsin

“I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.” – L.M. Montgomery

I intend to travel to New England in the fall someday to witness its famed fall foliage, but in the meantime I’m telling you that Wisconsin will do just fine.

The first time I visited Wisconsin was in October. It was years ago now, and while in Madison for a conference I went for an early morning run with a local, and my goodness I have traveled to spectacular locations around this world — an African safari, the Taj Mahal, a Brazilian rainforest, the Notre Dame Cathedral, even gazing at the Pacific Ocean for a dozen years while living in Malibu — but nothing I have ever seen has been more breathtaking than that morning run. As the crew from the University of Wisconsin rowed by on Lake Mendota (seemingly on cue), the sun rose on the horizon (also seemingly on cue), and we ran along trails through the blazing colors of the remarkable fall trees. That was my introduction to Wisconsin: spectacular, and unforgettable.

So it is more than a little cool to be living in Wisconsin this October, and as I walk around town and through campus at peak color, an unconscious smile appears.

How exactly does one use words to convey love to the colors of the fall? I wish I could do better.

We drove to Door County yesterday for a special immersion in the stunning display, and we turned down several unmarked side roads and found ourselves transported to new worlds. The reds and the yellows and the oranges against the bright blue sky above us unleashed a dazzling fireworks show specifically designed for the daytime. And the crunchy fallen leaves below us announced their sacrifice, beginning their transformation into shades of caramel and rust. It was a scene in nature like no other.

Maybe it’s the aging process, but I confess that I have come to fully appreciate all four seasons. And maybe it’s the specific season of life that I find myself in now, but the extraordinary autumn colors seem extra special.

I am fifty-four years old, and I cannot say that I love keeping a note on my iPhone to maintain a growing list of health conditions. And I retain enough math skills to realize that average life expectancy means that I am on the back side of this mountain called life. But I am particularly grateful and happy at this point of the journey. Can anyone else relate?

In the fall, one can look back to remember both the youthful exuberance of spring and the passionate heat of summer while looking ahead to the peaceful rest of winter. But in the fall proper, life also reveals its peak color. And it is magnificent.

“Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald

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Bad Moons

Posted on September 28, 2024 | 3 comments

I hear hurricanes a-blowin’ / I know the end is comin’ soon / I fear rivers overflowin’ / I hear the voice of rage and ruin / Don’t go around tonight / Well it’s bound to take your life / There’s a bad moon on the rise.

– John C. Fogerty

It’s guilt, I think. I get this odd feeling watching television coverage of hurricanes, you see, like the terrible destruction wrought by Helene yesterday. I’m guessing it’s guilt with maybe some weariness and empathy sprinkled in.

Empathy because although I dodged tornadoes in Arkansas, earthquakes and wildfires in California, a pandemic in Tennessee, and frigid winter temperatures in Illinois, a hurricane in Mississippi holds special status in the disaster-littered timeline of my life. I have absolutely been there.

And weary because thirty-four hurricanes made landfall in these United States since Katrina changed my life in 2005, including four just this year, and if climate change has shown its hand there are many more to come that will be more intense than ever. I feel weary when I see yet another video montage of roaring water, relentless wind, and devastated humans left behind. I know the exhaustion, and there will just be more and more.

But it must be mostly guilt because of the extraordinary response to Katrina. I don’t think there’s been anything like it before or since, and I had a front-row ticket to such incredible love and generosity. That is surely not everyone’s experience, including today. That Katrina turned out to be a highlight of my life is proof that my experience was abnormal.

But this reflection on my emotional salad is all for my personal therapy. I wonder what you think. How should you respond to these perennial tragedies on the evening news?

For starters, I’d say, give when you are so moved. Help the victims of Helene. I know exactly how they will feel when you do. Their hearts are broken. But I can also picture you giving away your piggy bank after one tragedy, then turn on the news the next day only to discover a new tragedy and one less piggy bank. I get not knowing how to respond to the never-ending trail of bad moons that we encounter through various media day after day after day.

I have a general thought.

I recall one of the amazing Katrina volunteers from somewhere in the world coming to tell me goodbye after his group spent several days working their tails off out of pure love. It was killing him to leave with so much undone, and it was my turn to play comforter to another’s tears. I fumbled for something helpful to say to someone so kind, and I mentioned that I suspected he could scratch that itch for helping others in great need back in his hometown, too. Sure, Katrina captured the attention and heart of the entire world, but there are people in great need all around us if we have the courage to look in the dark corners of our own communities. I truly believed that then, and I still do.

So I guess I don’t know how to cure all the problems in the world, including how one person can respond to all the problems in the world. I wish that I did. All I can offer is the idea of adopting a daily posture of keeping our eyes and hearts open to those all around us facing bad moons in their evening sky. Someone close by is in for nasty weather, and if we could imagine a world where we consistently love our neighbors, then maybe we can start to make a dent in the evening news, too.

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The Answer, My Friend

Posted on October 29, 2023 | Leave a comment

The stunning natural beauty of Southern California is no secret, providing compelling reasons for the ridiculous housing prices in the form of abundant sunshine, glistening beaches, mild temperatures, ocean breezes, and rugged mountains all together in one spectacular package. Likewise, the opposing natural forces are equally well known, i.e., terrifying earthquakes, dangerous mudslides, and raging wildfires, but there is one negative that comes to mind less readily if you do not live here: Santa Ana winds.

If the popular SoCal picture is driving down PCH with the top down, a gentle breeze caressing your face, then the Santa Ana wind experience is more like having your face used for a punching bag by someone wearing clothes irons instead of boxing gloves. Seriously, imagine howling, constant, hot, dry winds, with frequent hurricane-force gusts, and you’ll get the picture.

The Santa Anas heighten wildfire fears for good reason, and they are even thought to affect the mood of the entire region. In 1938, Raymond Chandler wrote the following passage in his novel, “Red Wind:” “There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving and study their husbands’ necks. Anything can happen.”

The Santa Anas arrived last night and are howling as I write this afternoon.

We have been given the ridiculous opportunity to live in a tiny apartment directly on the Pacific Ocean for the past few months until we move on to campus, and it has been an awesome privilege to lie in bed at night and listen to the waves. It is truly amazing. Last night, however, we listened to the winds howl instead, and this morning I was out in the street surveying damage and retrieving the trash cans. With the sunrise, I noticed that the waves kept coming, but the powerful winds took a layer of ocean spray each time and lifted it to the sky like a LeBron James powder toss (see picture above, although it doesn’t do it justice).

Just another day in paradise.

As today unfolds, something I had forgotten about this crazy phenomenon returns to mind, and that is how beautiful it is afterward. The absurd winds seem to cleanse the sky of any hint of haze, and it looks like someone drew the horizon with a Sharpie. The winds come and go, and in the aftermath, it is more beautiful than ever.

I remember many a Bible lesson about the Greek word translated “Spirit” (that really means, “Wind”), and how you cannot see the wind as it blows, but you can surely feel it and notice its effect on things. That seems relevant to life in general as I look out my window this afternoon. The winds of life surely come and go, sometimes gentle and refreshing, sometimes harsh and destructive, but regardless, when they die down, something remains. Whether those winds cleanse us or wreck us, as surely as the Santa Anas visit Los Angeles, they surely clear out the haze and produce some clarity.

If you really want to know what is there down in the depths of your soul, like I often do, maybe Dylan nailed it when he said that the answer is blowing in the wind.

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Tragedy

Posted on October 20, 2023 | 2 comments
Pepperdine Graphic

tragedy: a lamentable, dreadful, or fatal event or affair; calamity; disaster.

Painfully, recently, the Pepperdine University campus community has borne witness to tragedy.

Around 8:30pm on Tuesday night, four Pepperdine seniors—Asha, Deslyn, Niamh, and Peyton—were killed when struck by a car on the Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu. Those four precious students were attending a school-sponsored fraternity-sorority mixer and were standing on the roadside when a high-speed vehicle crashed into multiple parked cars, propelling one to fatally strike the young women. It is a tragedy that is simply beyond words. The driver of the vehicle is twenty-two years old and a Malibu resident, and some in the Pepperdine community know him, too. Words do not exist. An unspeakable tragedy.

This, of course, comes on the heels of the savage terrorist attacks in Israel that has impacted the Pepperdine community as well. Los Angeles has the largest Jewish population outside of the nation of Israel, and that is reflected on campus, including here at the law school where I work. In fact, one of our terrific law professors was in Israel celebrating the holiday with his family when the attacks occurred and ended up teaching a class via Zoom from a hotel rooftop in the war zone. He is back among us now, thankfully, but the pain here is personal and palpable. Add to the mix our students and colleagues with personal and family connections to Palestine. Their pain is most personal as well, along with unique fears and concerns, now feeling a double minority in a terrible, terrible time. Another unspeakable tragedy.

It has been and is a time of great sadness here.

Tragedy. We sit in the audience and watch tearfully as the play ends with both Romeo and Juliet lifeless on the floor of the tomb. As the curtain falls, we’re stunned that Medea gets away with murder—or that Oedipus is heartbroken, blind, and begging—or that Hamlet dies in Horatio’s arms. We sit in the audience and weep for Rose and Jack as the Titanic goes down.

We are all too aware of the concept of tragedies. But when we discover ourselves in close, real-life proximity to those enduring unspeakable pain, we instinctively remember the phrase, there but for the grace of God go I, although there is a gnawing thought that our day will come, too, grace of God notwithstanding

Tragedy.

How does anyone even find the courage to face life in the face of such, well, reality? I am no expert. I only have so many birthdays and personal experiences, but what those have produced so far are the following thoughts, for what they are worth:

  • Be kind. Be kind to others, Be kind to yourself. Life is hard enough, and it is too hard for any of us to add any more unkindness to the world.
  • Be grateful. That there is anything good in life is an act of grace, and there are absolutely things that are good in life, and grace exists. Life is too hard to neglect anything beautiful that occurs along the way.
  • Be intentional. Live well. Make your life count for something. Don’t waste your precious moments. Contribute your verse. Awaken to the penetrating question that Mary Oliver poses of what you will do with your wild and precious life. Life is too hard not to make it count.

This community is in a time of great sadness, so surely not now, currently in the throes of grief, but when individuals are able to get up off the mat, whenever that is, and face life again with tragedy all too evident, I pray that we choose to do justice to the memories of those who have been lost. Life is simply too precious to waste.

Niamh, Peyton, Asha, and Deslyn

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Back (Trouble) to Back (At It)

Posted on September 23, 2023 | Leave a comment
September 23, 2023

Is it fair to say you are a runner if you don’t actually run?

I ran a mile this morning. It has been 262 days since I ran that far, but who’s counting, huh?

On January 4, 2023, while living in Carlinville, Illinois, I went for a run in the early morning darkness. It was a familiar run to the Square, still decorated with festive holiday lights, and I noticed a pain in my left leg different from the typical getting older pains. Instead of making a good decision, I chose to tough it out and finish the three-mile run, but by the time I arrived home I realized that was a mistake.

I did not seek any medical advice, because how silly would that be, right? I chose limping instead. More accurately, I thought “rest” solved everything, so I tried to rest it out. That didn’t work. Eventually, I poorly described how I felt in a casual conversation with my friend, Abby, an athletic trainer, who thought it sort of sounded like IT band trouble. I responded with what seemed smart: a morning stretching routine; working on my core, and doing some cardio on an exercise bike. I truly thought that was going to help. It didn’t.

In mid-April, I secretly flew to L.A. for a job interview and took a redeye home, which led to an uncomfortable night crammed into an airplane seat. Not long afterward, I discovered the worst lower back pain of my life; so painful, in fact, that I actually listened to my wife’s advice to visit a chiropractor, which don’t tell Jody this part, but that was the first good choice I had made in all of this. It turns out that it wasn’t my leg or my IT band at all; instead, I had some spinal issues that desperately needed addressing.

Months later, with the critical help of chiropractors in Illinois and now California, slowly (and with an emphasis on slowly), this morning, I went to Zuma Beach and ran a mile. All to say, I’m happy today. Still a long way to go, like the ancient Lao Tzu quote about a thousand-mile journey starting with an itsy-bitsy step, although I’m not sure Lao Tzu actually said itsy-bitsy, but you get the drift.

Today’s little milestone could have been depressing instead, I guess. My pace was terrible, less Noah Lyles and more Noah shuffling the elephants around the Ark. It actually seems that I am racing faster through my middle-age years than I did at Zuma this morning, and that could be a downer to someone who once did not question whether it was okay to call himself a runner.

But.

I remember a story about the great hall-of-fame baseball catcher, Roy Campanella, after his terrible automobile accident in 1958 that left him paralyzed just before the Dodgers played their first season in Los Angeles. Whoever told the story mentioned seeing a PT nurse toss a little toy ball to Campy and his struggle to catch a ball that a toddler could catch. A hall-of fame catcher struggling to catch a toy. But you know what, Campy kept trying to catch that ball while writing a book that he titled, It’s Good to Be Alive.

So, dadgum it, call me a runner. I am a runner that ran a mile today. And when I did, with plenty of time to think about it, I thought: It’s good to be alive.

January 4, 2023

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They Say You Can’t Go Back

Posted on July 13, 2023 | 3 comments

I always heard that you can never go back. But imagine for a moment that you grew up in small-town Arkansas and then moved to the Gulf Coast in your late twenties, and then to glittery Malibu in your late thirties. Then, imagine that in your late forties you left to pinball around the country for several years before moving back to Malibu, let’s say, a few days ago. Then, imagine that you needed some bananas and went to the grocery store and got into a short checkout line staffed by a face that you recalled and that when it was your turn the kind man with Juan Carlos on his nametag looked at you with a bit of a furrowed brow and said, “Hey buddy. It’s been a while.”

You imagine all that, and in the meanwhile I can tell you for certain something that feels really good: To be remembered. To be missed. And to be welcomed back.

I will never know how it feels to be considered physically attractive, but there may be some benefit at least to having a physical appearance that is, to put it kindly, distinctive. It surely made me feel good to be recognized after all these years.

I guess we all want to be Norm at that Cheer-ful pub in Boston, and as the song shared, have a place to go where everyone knows your name, and they’re always glad you came. For some, that means never leaving home. For others, that means the exact opposite. But maybe, every once in a while at least, it can happen for some of us when we shift this camper-van called life into reverse.

I always heard that you can never go back, but for the first time I am giving it a shot, and after $1.51 worth of bananas, I am now happily questioning that premise.

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Respecting Time

Posted on December 30, 2019 | 2 comments

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“Time is an illusion.” – Albert Einstein

Tick, tock, the clock does its rhythmic work without fail, and without complaint, while we lament that it goes too slow or marvel that it goes too fast. But time never misses a beat. And as the 2010s approach their finish line and the 2020s prepare to take the baton, like everyone else, I stop to reflect on the mystery of it all.

A decade ago I was approaching forty, smack dab in the middle of law school, living in a university residence hall with my family in California. For obvious reasons I anticipated launching a new life as an attorney in my forties, but here I sit a decade later in Tennessee, approaching fifty as a university vice president. Life surely is unpredictable.

I dare not venture a guess at life a decade down the road. The past has at least taught me that much. Two decades ago I was a baby preacher in Ocean Springs, Mississippi. Three decades ago I was a college student in Arkansas preparing to coach high school basketball. Four decades ago I was wearing a yellow ribbon to Mrs. Conley’s fourth grade class for the hostages in Iran, and fifty years ago? Well, I was born nine months later, so I’d rather not think of that too much.

Einstein said that time is an illusion. And that dude was pretty smart.

Last week we spent Christmas in Arkansas with extended family. It was a great visit. Most of our trip occurred in or driving by farmland, and it reminded me of what Stephen Covey referred to the “law of the farm”—his way of describing how certain things cannot be rushed. One might cram for a test, but you can’t cram on the farm. Planting, cultivation, and harvest must occur in order, and in due time, and the rhythm cannot be forced.

Life apparently subscribes to the law of the farm. Tick, tock, the clock does its rhythmic work without fail, and without complaint, while we lament that it goes too slow or marvel that it goes too fast. But time never misses a beat.

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Gimme a Break

Posted on November 25, 2019 | 2 comments

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Although every week is a work week for my department, today marks the beginning of what feels like a much-needed, and much-anticipated, break. Classes are canceled, calendars are less cluttered, and the roller coaster offers an opportunity to breathe.

I love the academic calendar. For someone who simultaneously craves routine and can’t stand monotony, the academic calendar provides the perfect blend of predictability and variety. I love the summer of planning and anticipation, the flurry of the fall semester, the joy of the holiday breaks, and the spring semester sprint toward the finish line of commencement.

But I especially need a break right now.

One year ago, while the power was out in Malibu post-fire, I set aside the breathing mask and trusted my laptop battery in the dark of my office for a job interview. Life has not slowed down for a minute since.

I am so excited that our daughters are visiting our new Nashville home this week, and you’ll surely hear more about that later. But this morning, I am headed to the office with a smile. I don’t need a break to rest. Instead, I simply need time away from the frenzy of meetings and events, with time and space to think, to process, to clear the old mind so that I can dream again.

I give thanks for that today, three days ahead of schedule.

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