Author: letterstoleland

February 14, 2023

Dear Leland and Everett,

I have more reasons for writing these letters that I can track, and certainly more than would make for an interesting letter. I’ve decided to work in my reasons as I go, starting today.

My biggest motivation for writing these letters, by far, is a desire to pass along important lessons that I have learned. I have lived an interesting life thus far, and have learned more useful life lessons than I could teach in any reasonable allocation of time.

Perhaps more importantly, teaching requires two things: 1) a willing teacher, and 2) a curious and motivated student. My hope is that by writing (as opposed to, say, lecturing) I will enable you to access these lessons when they are of use to you (as opposed to when they occur to me). You are young today, so there is little point in sharing these lessons with you now. Hopefully, as you mature, you find them useful.

One thing I’ve learned as a manager (I’ve had the good fortune to manage a number of folks thru my career) is that people generally don’t like being told what to do. Another is that concepts are retained poorly, unless they are attached to some story to provide meaning. The most effective technique to guide people I’ve found is to offer my personal experience as an example, along with the lesson I learned for myself. This empowers the audience to decide what from the lesson applies or resonates, but also to discard what is less useful. We all must blaze our own trails, but we all benefit from learning the lessons of those who come before us.

I also want you to see that I am ‘eating my own dog food’, as it were. I want you to see how I am applying these lessons in my own life, and to what effect. If I am applying useful lessons effectively, we should be able to look back in a few months or years and see tangible results.

I offer one example from today, just to underscore the point: I decided to do an hour of cardio today. I had no trouble going to the gym (I’ve already made that a habit, conquering the hardest part of exercise). I had no trouble starting the workout (after all, how hard is it to take the first few steps on an elliptical machine). After a few minutes I looked down to see my progress: 6 minutes. In that moment, demoralization hit. I was already feeling a little tired, and yet I was only 10% finished. I still had 54 minutes to go. Would I be able to finish? Did I still want to do this? Why am I doing this? The self-talk became defeating.

From there I started parsing the workout into more manageable chunks. One thing I’ve learned is that momentum matters: once I complete half a workout, I am unlikely to quit. I believe this relates to what economists refer to as the ‘sunk cost fallacy’, which stipulates that we tend to overvalue items in which we have already invested (and that the more we have invested, the more we are likely to overvalue something). I am therefor purposely leveraging this ‘fallacy’ to my benefit: I know that if I make it through half the workout, I am almost certain to finish, because I wouldn’t want to ‘waste’ the effort I had already put in. So now my goal has changed: instead of finishing a 60-minute workout, my goal is simply to make it to the 30-minute mark.

Aside: I travelled to Costa Rica in my early 20’s. My friend and I took an all day horse ride because, believe it or not, riding a horse took less time than taking a car to our destination (due to the mountainous terrain). The trip had the side benefit of being unbelievably scenic and memorable. Anyway, I distinctly remember that the horses had almost no interest in carrying us early in the trip; we routinely had to cajole our horses into moving forward. As we approached our destination, however, our horses became increasingly motivated to finish. By the end, we had to aggressively restrain our horses to keep them from running at full gallop. If memory serves, one middle-aged woman was thrown from her horse, he was so determined to finish the journey. Point being: the apparent dichotomy between a reluctance to start and a motivation to finish a long journey is far from unique to me; I suspect it is universal, and not just among humans.

I’ve also learned that ~5-minute increments intuitively feel imminently doable to me. I often say to myself: “I can do anything for 5 minutes”. The idea being that I can suffer almost any discomfort for that amount of time. And I also know that workouts often find a rhythm at some point, where I stop struggling and lose track of time in the rhythm of the monotony. So I decided to just aim for the next 5%, or 3-minute interval. I figured if I could make it to 9-minutes (or the next 3-minute interval), that would be 15%. I could then focus on the next 3 minutes, to get to 20%. Sure enough, somewhere around the 17-minute mark I stopped looking at the time, and got lost in the rhythm of the workout.

Of course, the second half of the workout wasn’t ‘easy’. But I kept focusing on my 3-minute increments, with increasing satisfaction that I was approaching the end, and increasing confidence that I would in fact finish.

My former company mastered this approach at scale. I often joke that they figured out how to take a 26-mile marathon and turn it into a series of 100-meter sprints. We spent very little time focused on the ultimate destination. But each Monday we set aggressive targets for the end of the week, and then ‘sprinted’ (translation: worked like hell) to hit those targets by Friday. After a few months, we turned around and marveled at how much we’d accomplished on a relatively compressed timeline.

As I write this, the rest of the world wonders how my former employer generated hit product after hit product, year after year, becoming arguably the most successful company and admired brand in the world. I submit that a cultural mastery of turning marathons into a series of sprints is probably the most underrated aspect of my former employers’ success.

The lesson: any time a worthy goal feels unmanageable, divide it into manageable pieces. Focus on setting 1 accomplishable goal, then achieving it. Then repeat.

I love you,

Dad

Dear Leland,

This morning was hard. Nothing happened that was particularly bad, and yet I felt as if nothing were going right.

Ironically, I woke up feeling energetic and motivated. I slept well this weekend. We socialized with dear friends. I was excited to build momentum in my workouts last week. Just a few hours later I had almost forgotten how my day stared, because those emotions felt so foreign.

You overslept this morning, I suspect due to a full and exciting weekend. Your mom also overslept this morning, due to not feeling well. I know how to prepare you boys for school, and am fully capable of getting you to school on time without your mom’s help. And yet.

I decided to make a protein shake today. That’s not terribly complicated, but I tried some new (to me) things this morning. I used our fancy blender, which I hadn’t used in awhile. I blended in some veggies, which I haven’t done before. None of this was terribly time consuming or hard. But it was new, and new things consume more energy than routines.

I also went to a yoga class today (more on that soon). This was also new, and I was a little nervous about it. Again, new things take up energy and emotions, even when we don’t realize it.

We dropped you off just in time for school. We forgot Everett’s Valentines Day cards, which he was supposed to bring to school today. Everett remembered when we got to school, and was upset to realize we had forgotten.

I belabor these details to illustrate how little it took-you and your mom oversleeping just a little, trying two relatively small new things, and realizing that we had forgotten to bring something (that, honestly, we can bring tomorrow) for Everett-for me to experience overwhelm.

What I noticed in that moment: the overwhelm felt familiar, almost normal. Chaos ruled the last several years of my life. Rarely did I take time to fully decompress and relax. As a result, feeling overwhelmed or on the verge of overwhelm became my normal state of being. Sadly, I think I’m far from alone as I write this, but that’s a topic for another day.

Point being: this morning’s routine, and especially the items mentioned above, gave me an excuse to fall into old habits of feeling stressed and overwhelmed. Our enjoyable weekend and my last week spent exercising, meditating, and writing, still leave me exposed to years of a habit of being overwhelmed by stimulus and chaos. Said differently: I am building new habits, but the old habits are still resurfacing.

And I think therein lies the lesson: new habits form slowly. It’s easy to see a familiar pattern and assume that we are reverting back, and that nothing is improving. It takes conscious awareness to recognize that we are making progress, that the old habits resurfacing are just habits (and looking at the items above, how little it takes for us to fall into old habits!), and then to trust that our new habits will yield tangible results soon enough.

In truth, I know that soon I will not constantly feel so harried. And I know it will not be so easy to fall back into the feelings of overwhelm that are all too familiar now. Fortunately, I was able to catch myself, even in the moment, and realize that this is temporary, and will improve soon. It’s taken me a lot of practice in the forms of meditation and coaching, but I’m now creating awareness when habits are taking over that no longer serve me. It’s a process that takes a fair amount of intention, time, and energy to start, and then continues to take (albeit less) intention, time, and energy to maintain.

Which leads us to yoga. I am not, shall we say, gifted at yoga. I’m not particularly flexible, and my balance is honestly terrible. (Aside: I’m somewhat astonished at Everett’s balance; he can do things, at 5, that I can’t comprehend. You are not as gifted as Everett, but your balance seems fine; you at least avoided this particular affliction of your dad’s. Unfortunately, your cousin inherited my balance; bless her).

Why do I mention this? You, like me, prefer to do things at which you excel. This is where our competitive nature can become problematic. You, like me, are fortunate to have many natural gifts and talents. And yet gifts can also be curses. Your competitive nature and many gifts will tempt you to focus all your time and energy on maximizing your gifts. And to some degree, it should! But you (like me) will be tempted to avoid activities that are beneficial but humbling…like yoga for me, especially today.

You probably don’t know that your mom and I started a yoga practice before you were born. Most weekends we would go attend a yoga class. I wasn’t particularly good, but I got better and eventually enjoyed the improvements in flexibility, stability, and mindfulness that resulted; I just felt better.

When you were born, our yoga practice ended. I continued stretching for the first few years of your life, but eventually fell out of that habit too. So today I was confronted with just how inflexible, and in some areas weak, I have become; it was not a particularly enjoyable experience.

Fortunately I am experienced enough to know that the first time is the hardest. Sessions tend to get less painful and more pleasurable with practice. Today I never got comfortable. Best case the poses felt awkward. Many were downright painful. Some I couldn’t do at all, and had to just let the class proceed without me. But what I know is that next week the awkward poses will feel less awkward. Eventually the pain will subside, and it’s impossible to describe the joy that accompanies release of tension that allows the pain to subside; over time the duration of pain will shrink and the payoff of joy will be easier to obtain. And eventually I will be able to do the poses that I couldn’t today.

But today was not that day. Today was a day to struggle, to assess and face with brutal clarity just where my current capabilities lie. I will not lie, today was not fun. But I know, due to experience, that today was the hardest day. So today was a win for overcoming the hardest part.

Consider my yoga experience a metaphor for whatever difficult task you have been avoiding or struggling with in your life.

I love you,

Dad

Dear Everett,

You may wonder why the first few letters are addressed to your brother. Before I attempt to explain, let me assure that 1) I love you dearly, probably more than you will ever know, and 2) these letters are meant for you as much as for him.

The first reason why the letters to date were addressed to Leland is simply that I’ve had the idea of writing “Letters to Leland” since he was born, and I’ve never been able to get the idea out of my head. I tried other titles, and just couldn’t come up with one I like better.

The second reason is that I know your brother better. Partly this is because I’ve known him longer (he’s older, after all), but mostly it’s because of what happened when you were born. See, newborn babies are incredibly demanding, and from what I can tell take up most of their mom’s time and attention. So while Mom was busy with you, I spent lots and lots of time with your brother for the first couple years of your life. He and I developed a pretty special bond, one that I have been purposely working to establish with you over the last couple years.

[Funny story: Leland originally demonstrated some jealousy when I started trying to play with you purposely a couple years ago. He would generally try to intervene, and recapture my attention. I joked that he had given up on getting his fair share of Mom’s attention, but that he was drawing the line at me. Once he realized that Mom had more bandwidth to be with him, Leland started letting me play with you without the need to interrupt.]

The third reason I write to Leland, though, is probably the most relevant: he’s less like me, so he’s easier for me to understand. That may sound counterintuitive: shouldn’t I understand you better, if you are more like me? On the contrary: the person we least understand is often ourselves, and so we similarly struggle to understand those most like us. Leland reminds me so much of your mom, my dad, and my sister; I’ve spent my whole life around aspects of his personality, and I’ve learned how to interact with those characteristics pretty comfortably and effectively.

You, like me, are agreeable, extroverted, emotional, musical, empathetic, and a little rebellious. I find myself simultaneously thrilled to watch you share personality traits with me, and horrified at the struggles I anticipate you will face in life as a result (because no one is likely more familiar with your future struggles than I).

Caveats aside: today’s note is for you, simply because I think you are the more appropriate audience for today’s topic.

I woke up today thinking about the cuckoo bird. Cuckoo birds lay their eggs in the nests of other birds. Cuckoo hatchlings push all the other eggs out of the nest before they can hatch. This ensures that the baby cuckoo gets all the attention from their unwitting, adopted parents. The parents raise and feed the cuckoo like their own child. From the videos I’ve seen, my sense is that the parents somehow recognize something is amiss, but are not able to overcome their programming, and so raise the cuckoo to adulthood.

The lesson, I think, is to practice awareness when cuckoos are attempting to hack your programming. There are so many folks (including but not limited to salesmen, marketers, religious fanatics, managers, and the arbiters of social status – think ‘the popular kids’) who would manipulate our programming for their purposes. While your capacity for empathy has the potential to be a superpower, in the face of cuckoos it also has the potential to become your achilles heel. I suspect you will be more susceptible to such manipulation than your brother. Leland seems to have a clear sense of what he wants, and a determined willingness to pursue his desires. I love and admire that about him. Unfortunately, I am far less definitive about my own wants and needs; indeed I’ve had to practice even becoming aware of them. I so want to be around happy people that I tend to sacrifice my own wants and needs for others. I suspect you will face the same struggle, at least to some degree.

To be clear: I don’t think any of us live a life free of manipulation by others. I don’t even think that should be the goal, because I suspect that in the attempt to avoid manipulation, we isolate ourselves and cut ourselves off from so much of the love and connection that make life worth living (especially for folks like you and me).

Rather, I think the goal should be to practice. Practice awareness of what it is that we really want. Practice the willingness to speak up for ourselves and ask for those wants. Practice facing the rejection when others say no to our requests. Practice understanding that when others say “no”, it does not mean that we are not loved or lovable. Practice being our own sources of love. And from there, practice awareness when others are manipulating or attempting to manipulate us. And then of course, practice forgiving ourselves when we discover we have been unknowingly manipulated.

What might that practice look like? Well, it’s an imperfect parallel, but let me talk about my week. I haven’t felt well this week. I feel pressure in my head from congestion. It’s affected my sleep, and I’ve felt tired, foggy, and just a little ‘off’ all week.

I also started an exercise routine this week. Almost every day I’ve asked myself whether I should exercise, or whether I should rest due to not feeling well. As I mentioned yesterday, I fear death; this week I am finding that I fear every new and unfamiliar discomfort not as the typical result of a new exercise regime or mild illness, but as an indicator of some imminently life-threatening disease.

On the other hand, I also fear not developing an exercise routine. I fear that taking one day off might lead to taking several days off, resulting in a routine that doesn’t include exercise.

So which is the more appropriate solution: should I exercise daily, or take days off until I feel better? My natural tendency is to seek counsel from others, and what I’ve learned is that others’ advice too often reflects the bias of the advisor. Ultimately, only I can know what’s best for me. Because I’m not very practiced, I must be purposeful about asking myself honestly what I should do. And I am learning not to cling too tightly to my approach; this week for example, I have continued to exercise, but while checking in regularly to see how I am feeling and whether I need to change strategy. I’ve given myself permission to rest, which (perhaps counterintuitively) allows me to give myself permission to exercise without getting too attached to the outcome (e.g. it’s okay if I decide to quit mid-workout, or if I taper my workouts due to fatigue).

How does this example connect back to the cuckoos? I think the point is that it’s helpful to 1) acknowledge and accept when something feels off (trusting that instinct); 2) examine the source of discomfort as fully, honestly, and completely as possible; 3) honestly search within for right answers; and 4) give yourself permission to experiment, or to hold your answers loosely while you search for more information. In terms of ‘how’ you follow the steps above, I find meditation and prayer to be the most helpful tools; that opens up other big topics, which I think we will need to save for another day.

I love you,

Dad

For reasons I don’t fully understand, I’ve been relatively gripped by fear since our last correspondence yesterday. I didn’t sleep particularly well last night. I wasn’t particularly present with our family last night or this morning. And, well, the last 24 hours just haven’t been particularly enjoyable.

So why write about it? Well, that’s what’s occupying my mind; trying to write about something else would be challenging and disingenuous today. The challenge is that fears don’t emerge as fully fledged thoughts. They surface as images, which we then must piece together as best we can. So here goes my effort to process today’s fear in hope’s of capturing the needed learning, so that I can let it go and move on.

First, some background: for years (a decade? more? less? I’m honestly not sure) I’ve had a recurring nightmare about being stuck precariously at a deadly height. Curiously, the location changes (on top of a tall building, on top of a mountaintop cliff, etc). But each time I suddenly realize that I am stuck thousands of feet off the ground. I then spend all my energy clinging to what little security I have (the side of the mountain or building, for example) while I look desperately for a way down. Invariably, I see no escape, and no hope of rescue.

The worst nightmare I can remember happened a few months ago. This time I was on top of a hot air balloon, floating high above the earth. You might recall that the very top of a hot air balloon is moveable, to allow the hot air to escape as needed. So I was standing just off to the side of the top, so that the surface was tilted. There was nothing to hold so balancing was hard and seemed impossible. I was a slip or a wind gust away from falling. Suddenly, you and your brother appeared on the balloon with me. You both were scared, and relying on me to keep you safe. I knew I couldn’t keep all three of us balanced on top of that balloon, and I had absolutely no idea what to do. I felt completely and utterly powerless and out of control. Oh God, I would have done anything to secure your safety; I think it was the most scared I have been in my life.

What do I think it means? Well, for one thing, I’m afraid of death. Somehow the idea of leaving you and your brother fatherless terrifies me. I feel so lucky and grateful to have my father (your Grampa) in my life. He’s helped me discover the type of husband, father, worker, and man I want to be. I can’t imagine not being there for you and your brother as you navigate the transition into manhood and (hopefully) marriage and fatherhood.

Fear of death overwhelmed me somewhat yesterday. I suspect it’s related to quitting my job. One of the reasons for quitting was that I recognized I had been putting my health on the back-burner for several years (since we moved back to the US four years ago, really). I won’t say that I “couldn’t” both work and be healthy; I will say that I “wasn’t” being healthy. I wasn’t eating well, I wasn’t exercising, and I was gaining weight. I didn’t like where I was health wise, and I didn’t like the trajectory I was on. So I decided to quit, partly to free up lots more time for me to work out and plan and prepare healthy meals (but also, honestly, so that I could write these letters to you).

My suspicion is that, so long as I was *planning* to quit my job, I was able to avoid confronting any fears related to health and longevity by convincing myself that I would address my health when I finally left work. Now that I have quit, my hypothesis is that months worth of suppressed fears surfaced all at once, in rather overwhelming fashion.

I am on day 3 of my mini-retirement. So far I have exercised all three days. I have meditated all three days. I have eaten pretty well all three days. But the enormity of the task ahead hit me a bit: I have lots of weight to lose and lots of fitness to gain. The path will be long and arduous. Like you, I am impatient by nature: I want to be fit *now*, even though I know I haven’t put in the work.

As an amusing aside, I had a similar frustration with these correspondences today. I have so much I want to say, so much I want to convey. I want it to be done already, or at the very least I want to be much farther along than I am. I am so very tempted to put long hours into writing or exercise, neglecting other aspects of my life in order to accelerate the process of writing or getting healthier.

Because I am impatient by nature, I have to remind myself this is a journey of 1,000 steps. I’ve learned that the first steps are the hardest: you sense the enormity of the task ahead, but don’t perceive the progress made to date. It’s important but hugely challenging (at least for me) to redefine success: taking the daily step. I worked out today, and I wrote today. That is enough for today. I will resume tomorrow. And someday I will compile enough steps to be able to look back and say “how far we’ve come”.

But that day is not today. Today is my day to practice patience, and to chuckle knowingly at my restive nature.

I love you,

Dad

P.S. regarding the nightmares.

In fact, I prayed to God with you and your brother up on that hot air balloon, in my dream. A messenger floated up and held a mirror in front of my face. I’m still not entirely sure what that meant. My interpretation was that God was saying “you got yourself into this mess”. My coach’s interpretation was that God was saying “you have all the tools you need”. Perhaps our interpretations are not so different.

Yesterday I had the nightmare again. This time I was walking a plank suspended in the air (or perhaps it was attached to a very tall building). Only this time I became aware in time to stop walking, but instead I willingly stepped off the plank. As I floated toward the earth I was overwhelmed with fear, but accepted that there was nothing I could do but live with the fear. I was overwhelmed with sadness (at the thought that my life was ending), but also with gratitude. More than anything I felt a profound awareness of all the love and beauty in my life and in the world. In that moment I realized that I felt fully alive.

And perhaps that points to the other learning from my nightmares: not only am I afraid of dying, I am also afraid of living life fully.

I joined a gym yesterday; the gym has a sauna. Though I had not used one before yesterday, I am experimenting with sauna use in order to explore potential health benefits.

The sauna had a sign that said “no shoes allowed”. A few minutes after I walked in, another fellow walked in. He was fully clothed, including his shoes. The shoes were not knew; they were well worn, and slightly beat up.

I found myself profoundly bothered by this fellow wearing shoes in the sauna. Did he not see the sign? Did he not care? Did he not have the common sense and common courtesy to recognize that he was tracking dirt into a space where people often sit, undressed and vulnerable? Should I say something? How would he react if I said something? Why doesn’t someone do something about this? Aargh, why do I not have the courage and power to do something about this?

And then I realized: I was stuck in fear. I was afraid. The realization gave me a moment to disconnect the fear from reality, and start to evaluate the fear. I mean, one individual wearing shoes in a sauna one time is hardly an event worth being upset over. And yet, here I was, clearly upset.

It occurred to me that I like when people follow the rules. I often question rules, and generally want to understand them before following them. But, especially once I understand why the rules exist, I strongly prefer following the rules, and that others do the same.

I tell this story partly because I see the same tendency in you. You instinctively question rules. But you are also an ardent enforcer of rules, both in our family and with your peers. You, like me, clearly prefer living in a world with logical rules that people follow.

Why, I wonder? Perhaps it doesn’t matter why, and awareness is the only thing that matters. But that’s not very satisfying, so I’ll share what else occurred to me today, with the caveat that I anticipate I still have much to learn on this topic.

First off, rules help simplify decisions. Having rules prevents us from needing to reason every decision from first principles. Rules reduce our cognitive load enormously. So when we or others break the rules, we instinctively revisit the purpose behind the rules, and bear additional cognitive load.

Second, rules help us avoid chaos. A world without rules (either formal or informal) would be a free-for-all. No one would know what to expect from other people, making the world feel like a far scarier place. So when others break the rules, I interpret that environment as scarier than before.

Third, people following rules implies that they have bought into the system. Perhaps they, like you and I, sought to understand the rules first. Or perhaps they just trusted the people making the rules, and so trusted the rules by extension. But when people break the rules, it implies that they do not agree with the rules or do not trust the rule makers. Either way: a critical mass of rule breakers implies a breakdown of the social structure, even a structure as trivial as the local gym. Let me be clear: I don’t believe this one individual wearing shoes is signaling the imminent collapse of my local gym. What I am outlining is the implicit logic thread that caused me to overreact to what was a minor infraction, so that I can differentiate what is logical (excessive rule breaking is problematic for keeping society together) from what was emotional (that this one individual was somehow threatening the social order of my gym, or my world at large).

Ultimately, I decided not to confront the shoe-wearer. I don’t know if that was the right solution or not. My sense is that I didn’t confront him out of fear, which implies that I will want to practice developing the courage to confront transgressors (politely, of course) in the future.

And what did I owe the shoe-wearer? First off, probably some grace. Perhaps he just didn’t see the sign. Perhaps this was his first time in a sauna, and he was too nervous to remember to take his shoes off. If he knowingly broke the rules, he almost certainly did so out of fear. So it’s hugely important to remind myself that this individual deserves my empathy more than my judgement. Certainly, that’s how I would want to be treated if the roles were reversed.

Second, he probably deserved some respectful boundary-setting. If he just forgot, he probably deserved a gentle reminder. If he was just nervous, he probably deserved a gentle correction as a teachable moment, handled with understanding and grace. And if he knowingly broke the rules, he probably deserved an opportunity to face that reality, and the impact it has on those around him. In short, he deserved an opportunity to grow; by not confronting him, I arguably robbed him of that opportunity.

Of course, it’s possible that he both knowingly broke the rules and would have resisted the opportunity to learn and grow from a respectful correction. Perhaps. But he probably deserved the opportunity nonetheless, and I probably deserved the opportunity to practice offering a gentle correction without getting too attached to his reaction. In other words, even if he reacted poorly to a correction (one of the things I feared), it was probably still worth it to both of us for me to offer him that correction.

And of course, I deserve some grace too, for not confronting the shoe-wearer. I was too scared and self-absorbed to make the right decision for all involved. But that doesn’t make me weak, pathetic, or shameful. Just human. And one of the most joyful aspects of being human that I have discovered occurs when we embrace the opportunity to grow. Before we can embrace the opportunity to grow, however, we must become aware of it. So today I celebrate improving my awareness, if only a little.

I love you,

Dad

Dear Leland,

As I left work for the final time on Friday, I had an unusual experience. When you read this, you will remember where I worked, and roughly when I quit. You might not know or remember that I worked there for almost 13 years, and that as a result I left with lots of memories (both good and bad), friendships, and devotion to the company.

After I turned in my badge and laptop, I turned and walked away from the building toward the parking lot. I started breathing heavily, involuntarily. Huge, heaving breaths. I couldn’t tell if I was going to vomit, cry, or hyperventilate. I really didn’t know what was going on, but decided to let my body do what it needed without trying to resist. Then I sensed (and this is going to sound a little crazy) a pull from the building. It felt as if some energy inside me was being pulled magnetically by the building itself. I sensed my body and the building agreeing that the energy belonged to the company, not to me. It was a cloudy, breezy day, and I sensed the wind blowing energy particles out of my back, to blow back to the building where it belonged.

I decided to engage with the idea; as I approached the parking garage I imagined putting a screen across the threshold. As I walked through the imaginary screen, I felt the last remaining energy particles filtered out of me, dropping to the ground after I walked through (I was now apparently too far away from the building for the magnetic pull to draw the energy particles back via the air).

Sitting down in the car, I felt relief, calm, and peace. The emotion was distinct from how I have felt over the last few weeks and months. You may or may not recall that we planned for this for a long time. I asked you and your brother how you would feel about me quitting my job months ago. Your response: “It’s fine, I guess? Will you spend more time playing with us?” Thank you for reinforcing what really matters.

Anyway, the last few months have been challenging for me. I’ve processed a lot of sadness (at saying goodbye to folks at work, saying goodbye to the company I’ve loved working for, and saying goodbye to the working lifestyle). I’ve also processed a lot of fear. At first the fear was centered around the loss of income, and my financial insecurities. More recently the fear has centered around taking control of my life. This may sound counter-intuitive, but I’m realizing that work has been an excuse for me not to take ownership of my life. Quitting my job is just one stepping stone toward taking that ownership, but it’s a big one. My job occupies 40+ hours of time each week, and it’s mentally and emotionally intensive enough that I often think about work when I’m at home. Though I have enough hours in my day to do the things I say I want to do (exercise, see my friends, write), I usually find myself too mentally and emotionally drained at the end of the workday. So, I’m prioritizing me, and the things that matter most to me (instead of the things asking for the most attention).

Quitting a job probably shouldn’t be as emotionally draining as this was, but the truth is that I had to stare down some demons to get here. The thing that kept me resolute in the waves of fears and sadness was a profound sense that I was being called to do something different. As of this writing, I have no idea what the different thing will be. All I have is a sense that I needed to clear some space to prepare myself for the call.

We have much to discuss in this space, like “why is your dad writing you letters you are too young to read?”, “why is he publishing it online?”, and “why are these the details he is choosing to share with me?”. Hopefully you get some of the answers you want in due time.

I love you,

Dad