It’s a new year, and after 6 years of procrastination, I have undertaken writing again. Here I am. I have no idea where to start, and no idea where to go after I’ve started, but at least I have finally given myself permission for that to be Okay.

These last 6 years have been equal parts exciting and frightening, peaceful and tumultuous, filled with certainty and a few of those unwelcome, startling stare-downs with The Unknown. In short, they were everything my parents promised they would be when I got older.

Getting older.Remember that?

Remember not being able to wait until you were older, because you were certain that the knowledge you accumulated would make you the wisest, smartest, the richest most capable person anyone would have the good grace to know? Especially in light of that ‘Dream’. The Dream you held tightly  as a child. The Dream you refused to let slip away. The Dream that was currency as far as your parents were concerned, used to focus your elementary attention span to the condition of a room less tidy. Astronaut, Secret Agent, Poet. Whatever that dream was, for so many, the older they became, the more they pushed their dreams further and further back. They had to! They were busy trying to get a strong foothold on those pesky everyday things that, when left unattended, became unmanageable, ugly monstrosities that consumed healthy decent living. Then the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into years . . .

I know so many who have never gotten closer to the stars and planets, they have never recorded that epic composition, or have written the book they imagined would be so visceral and transcendent that it rivaled the social and literary influence of Dickens, Hugo or Chaucer. They simply became managers. Managers of their daily life, and the lives of their loved ones.

Then I think of my dad.

My only hero was my father. He was one of those regular people who sacrificed so much on behalf of those he loved. He served his country with honor, and as a civilian, he served his fellow man with love and forthrightness; pouring his soul into others, enabling them to realize their dreams. He sacrificed so that others might see a brighter day. That really was his way. So much so that I felt the strangest humility at his memorial as human soul after human soul approached me and, almost as if they had all agreed that they would say the same thing, saying, “I am just one of the many people that your father helped a long the way.” They were uncountable, and after just a few of these introductions I wept openly. I learned that as much as I thought I had known my dad, I had just undertaken a new journey to know him, that he loved even more than I realized he did. When I thought that there could be no more to his love than that overwhelming, astonishing love that I saw everyday.

The thing is, my dad never talked about it. His acts of love were so powerfully motivating that he launched a thousand success stories, never taking credit for the lives he helped turn around. Never seeking the limelight for being present in the center of the overwhelming personal needs of others. In short, he was a dependable, humble man. A man who, when you fell down, would help you get back up then put the tools back in your hands with the expectation that you finish the job. He didn’t care how you finished, just that you directed all your energies to that challenge at hand and finish it. That you do your very best. He was that way for so many, he was truly one of the few great men I have ever known.

Whatever my dreams were, before my father died, they became something afterward. My dream became to be more like him. To be worthy of his name. To be Sacrificial, dependable, other centered, humble, full of faith, an agent of change for the betterment of others, and those I love. To be a lover of God and humanity.

Dreams change, and so too, does the dreamer.

I hope to revisit some of these ideas in future posts and discuss them in greater detail. Until then, it’s really good to be here again.