Living Inside History

Every generation believes it’s living through extraordinary change.

And in a way, every generation is right.

Economic strain, political division, conflict, and rapid technological change appear in different forms, but the underlying tension remains the same.

Ray Dalio describes what he calls the Big Cycle. The rise and decline of nations shaped by debt, money, internal division, and shifting global power. He would say we’re late in that cycle, marked by high debt, widening wealth gaps, and growing competition among world powers.

Harry Dent approaches history through demographics, studying population growth, and generational spending patterns. From his view, today’s economic strain reflects aging populations, slower growth, and the unwinding of decades of expansion.

Different perspectives. Similar conclusions.

Neither claim to predict the future with precision. Debt cycles, demographic waves, generational moods, technological revolutions, and geopolitical tensions move simultaneously. Understanding these forces and their patterns helps us recognize the currents. How we live within them is still our responsibility.

I remember the OPEC oil embargo of the 1970s and gas lines stretching for blocks. I was in elementary school as interest rates climbed above twenty percent. I watched the Reagan Revolution reshape economic thinking and bring supply-side theory into the mainstream.

I lived through the Iranian Revolution in 1979, the taking of US hostages, and the subsequent spread of militant extremism across parts of the Muslim world over the next four decades. I watched an airplane strike the World Trade Center in real time.

I grew up under the shadow of the Cold War, when nuclear conflict felt possible at any moment. I saw the optimism that followed the fall of the Soviet Union and then watched China open to the world after decades of isolation. I remember the theories about how expanding capitalism in China might soften their communist approach to governing.

I witnessed the savings and loan collapse, multiple stock market crashes, the Great Recession, and a global pandemic that disrupted economies, institutions, and families alike. I watched how strongly governments grasp control when certainty disappears.

I saw personal computers and then the internet transform daily life, followed by the digital economy, smartphones, social media, and now artificial intelligence reshaping work itself.

I can think of countless other historical events that have happened in the span of one life. Each moment felt unprecedented. Each reshaped the world, sometimes positively, sometimes negatively.

And yet, life continued.

When history is written, it focuses almost entirely on macro events. The narratives are dominated by wars, collapses, elections, revolutions, and markets. What rarely appears are the countless individual lives unfolding quietly alongside these events.

History does not record families eating dinner together during times of high inflation. Nor does it record weddings that took place during recessions or children born during wars. It overlooks the laughter that survived fear and the quiet courage required to just keep going.

But these individual experiences of life form the definition of humanity.

For every name preserved in textbooks, millions of people were doing what people have always done. They worked. They loved. They raised children. They cared for neighbors. They hoped tomorrow might be a little better than today.

Macro forces shape conditions. They influence opportunity and may narrow our options. They may, unfortunately, end our life or the lives of someone we love. But they don’t define a life.

Inside every macro upheaval exists our “micro” life. The life lived within the headlines rather than dictated by them.

The world may determine interest rates. It does not decide whether we act with kindness. It may influence careers, but it does not control our integrity. It may introduce hardship, but it does not determine how we respond.

Our response is where freedom still lives.

Viktor Frankl understood this more clearly than almost anyone. After enduring unimaginable suffering in Nazi concentration camps, he observed that nearly all external freedoms can be taken from a person. One freedom remains intact. The ability to choose one’s attitude and response to circumstances.

Events may constrain us. They may demand adaptation. They will never own our human spirit.

In my office, I have a wall filled with photographs. Family gatherings. Wedding days. Trips taken together. Beautiful places. Ordinary moments that became lasting memories.

When I step back and look at this wall, patterns appear.

We worked hard.

We made time for one another.

We traveled together.

We celebrated milestones.

We were living out our hopes and dreams, and we still are.

My wall has no charts or financial forecasts. No macro trend lines. But it tells the story of what matters most.

None of these moments waited for ideal conditions. They unfolded alongside inflation, recessions, political change, and uncertainty. The photographs capture lives shaped by ordinary but important choices made amid extraordinary times.

As we traveled, we met families across many countries. Different customs. Different faiths. Different governments. Yet everywhere we went, the hopes sounded familiar. Parents wanting the best for their children. Families striving for opportunity. Communities longing to contribute and belong.

The differences emphasized by the world shrink quickly when people speak about those they love.

Human aspirations remain remarkably consistent.

History changes its outward form. The heart changes very little.

You will live through upheavals of your own. Some will be frightening. Some will be unfair. Some will test your trust in institutions or leaders.

Remember this.

You are not responsible for controlling history. You are responsible for how you live inside it.

You will not choose the history that surrounds you. You will choose the values you carry through it.

You choose how you treat people.

You choose how to adapt.

You choose how you show up for your family.

You choose whether uncertainty hardens you or deepens your compassion.

You choose whether fear leads or faith steadies you.

These are your choices. Always.

Humanity endures because ordinary people continue to build their lives amid uncertainty. They love, they work, they fail, they adapt, and they hope, even while larger forces move around them.

While empires rise and fall, families persist.

That is the quiet march you belong to. Rarely captured by historians yet carried forward by generations.

History happens around you.

Life happens within you.

Live your life well. Love deeply. Work honestly. Stay flexible. Hold your faith. Care for one another.

If you do that, you will live a meaningful life regardless of when you were born.

As I was finishing this post, I found these quotes from George Bernard Shaw. The words come from two different writings of his from the early 1900’s. Together they express something important about what it means to live well within whatever history hands us.

“This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being a force of Nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy. “

“I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community, and as long as I live it is my privilege to do for it whatsoever I can. I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work the more I live. I rejoice in life for its own sake. Life is no ‘brief candle’ for me. It is a sort of splendid torch, which I have got hold of for the moment; and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations.”

h/t – Atkins Bookshelf

Photo by Federico Giampieri on Unsplash

If this post resonated with you, feel free to share it with someone who might appreciate it as well.

You can also listen to the Grandpa Bob Encouraging Leadership Podcast, where I share short reflections on leadership, life, and learning.

Thanks for reading!

Grandpa Bob Encouraging Leadership — A New Podcast

Over the last 15 years, I’ve written a lot of words.

Words shaped by work and leadership challenges.

Words that grew out of quiet reflection or things that caught my attention at just the right moment.

Many of them were also shaped by family, faith, mistakes, and moments that stayed with me longer than I expected.

More than a few people have suggested I start a podcast. They’d tell me it’s a lot easier to listen than it is to keep up with a bunch of new reading assignments each week.

While my mom was still alive and living with significant vision loss from macular degeneration, I gave the idea serious thought. Listening would have been the only practical way for her to “read” my posts.

Unfortunately, that “serious thought” didn’t turn into action in time for her to benefit.

Ironically, for someone who usually believes in starting, then figuring things out along the way, I let all the steps required to set up a podcast get in the way of beginning.

Until now.

So today, I’m launching a new podcast:

Grandpa Bob Encouraging Leadership

This podcast is a series of short reflections on leadership, life, and learning. I’m sharing them first and foremost with my grandchildren…and with anyone else who might be listening in.

The episodes are intentionally brief, thoughtful, and unhurried.

They’re the kind of reflections you can listen to on a walk, during a quiet drive, or at the start or end of your day.

They’re meant to create space, not fill it.

Who it’s for

At its heart, this podcast is for my grandkids.

Someday, years from now, I want them to be able to hear my voice and know what mattered to me.

The things I noticed. What I learned the hard way. What I hope they carry with them as they find their own way in the world.

But leadership lessons rarely belong to just one audience.

So, if you’re listening, as a parent, a leader, a teacher, or simply someone trying to live well, you’re welcome here too.

What we’ll talk about

Each episode explores a simple idea. Here are some examples:

-Showing up when progress feels slow

-Letting go of certainty

-Choosing gratitude over entitlement

-Learning to wait without drifting

-Leading with trust, humility, and patience

-Paying attention to what’s quietly shaping us

    There won’t be hype. There won’t be slogans. There certainly won’t be any fancy edits.

    I’ll discuss questions worth talking about, and observations a loving grandfather hopes to pass along to his grandkids.

    An invitation

    You can find Grandpa Bob Encouraging Leadership wherever you listen to podcasts.

    Don’t worry if you can’t listen to every episode.

    Please feel free to disagree with anything I say. I don’t have a monopoly on the right answers.

    If even one episode helps you pause, notice something new, or steady yourself a little, then it’s doing what it was meant to do.

    Thanks for listening.

    And if you’re one of my grandkids reading this someday, know that I believe in you and I’m always rooting for you.

    If you’re listening alongside them, the same is true for you.

    Photo by Patrick Fore on Unsplash

    A Parenting Prayer

    Parenting is one of the clearest places where faith meets daily life. It calls us to humility, patience, courage, generosity, and the kind of love that stretches us far beyond what we believed we could give.

    It invites us to trust God with the people most precious to us, even when the path ahead is uncertain and far beyond our view.

    The prayer below is one I’ve been working on for a while. It’s a prayer for parents at every stage of life…those just beginning, and those watching their grown children take their first steps into adulthood. It’s also for those whose children are becoming parents and carrying this calling into a new generation.

    It is a reminder that God accompanies us in the noise and the silence, the ordinary and the holy, the days that feel long and the years that pass so quickly.

    May this prayer strengthen your heart and deepen your hope as you walk this sacred calling.

    A Parenting Prayer

    God, please grant me
    The wisdom to guide my children with patience, clarity, and love
    And the humility to grow alongside them as they grow.
    Teach me to choose presence over hurry,
    Trust over fear, and connection over control.

    Give me the courage to admit when I am wrong
    And the grace to show my children that learning never ends,
    Not at 7, not at 17, not at 70.

    Help me see the world through their eyes,
    Eyes that understand wonder,
    Eyes that welcome the new with unguarded joy.
    Let their curiosity rekindle my own,
    So our home becomes a place where questions are celebrated
    And imagination roams freely.

    Give me integrity in the quiet moments,
    When my child is learning from what I do.
    Give me a heart strong enough to support them
    And gentle enough that they always feel safe coming to me.

    Teach me to treasure the small things:
    The bedtime stories,
    The long drives,
    The conversations over tacos,
    The ordinary afternoons that turn into lifelong memories.
    Remind me that these simple moments
    Will matter far more than the schedules we keep
    Or the outcomes we chase.

    Loving God,
    Free me from comparing my family to others.
    You did not design my children to fit anyone’s timeline but Yours.
    Help me trust the pace of their becoming
    And see their strengths even when they are wrapped in struggle.

    Guard me from chasing achievements that impress the world
    But neglect the souls under my roof.
    Let our home be defined by gratitude, peace, and laughter,
    With the quiet confidence that love is our foundation.

    Help me pass down what truly endures:
    Character over perfection,
    Kindness over victory,
    Service over status,
    Gratitude over entitlement.

    May the stories I tell, the choices I make,
    And the way I show up each day
    Become part of the heritage my children carry forward.
    Help me become an example worth following,
    One who lives with faithfulness, honesty, and a willingness to learn.

    Give me strength for the hard times
    And calm for the anxious nights.
    Give me a long view of parenting,
    Seeing not just who my children are today
    But who they are becoming by Your grace.

    Teach me to listen more than I lecture,
    To encourage more than I correct,
    And to guide without stifling the person
    You created them to be.

    Grant me the courage to give responsibility as they mature
    And the faith to let them walk their own path,
    Even when that path stretches beyond my view.

    Lord, may our home reflect Your kingdom,
    A place of welcome, forgiveness, generosity, and joy.
    Let my children feel seen, valued, and deeply loved,
    Not for what they do, but for who they are.

    I invite You into every step of this sacred calling.
    Walk with me in the noise and the silence,
    In the exhaustion and the celebration,
    In the days that feel long
    And the years that pass too quickly.

    Grant me the peace that comes from Your eternal and infinite love,
    Now and forever.

    Amen.

    Photo by Hu Chen on Unsplash

    The Pathways to a Rewarding Life

    Finding Purpose at Every Age

    From thirty thousand feet, the land below looks like a patchwork of roads and fields. Each marks a choice someone once made about where to go. Some stretch straight and steady. Others twist through hills or fade out of sight. Together they form a map of movement and direction, a living story of people who kept choosing the next road.

    Life feels the same way. The routes change, but the invitation stays the same. Keep moving to find greater meaning.

    The most rewarding paths often pass through three places. Serving others, staying curious, and daring to pursue new goals.

    Service opens our heart. When we give to something beyond ourselves, our life expands. For the younger generation, it teaches them that purpose grows through generosity and connection. Helping a friend, joining a cause, or showing up for someone who needs encouragement builds an identity rooted in contribution. Later in life, service transforms experience into legacy. It turns lessons into guidance and presence into impact. Every act of service whispers that we still matter.

    Curiosity keeps that whisper alive. It invites discovery and reminds us that wonder never expires. For young adults, curiosity shifts attention from comparison to possibility. It fuels creativity and builds resilience (because nobody said it would be easy). For those further down the road, curiosity revives joy. Learning something new, exploring unfamiliar tools, or asking deeper questions renews their spirit.

    Big goals complete the trio. Ambition alone can fade, but big dreams shaped by purpose bring hope to life. For the young, bold goals turn uncertainty into motion. For the experienced, they rekindle the thrill of becoming. The thrill of pursuing. Every goal, whether to build, create, teach, or grow, reminds the soul that movement still matters. Hope rises with every goal we dare to pursue.

    Many people never take these paths. Fear of failure, fear of embarrassment, fear of losing face…they each build fences where we can hide.  Quiet excuses convincing us to play small and call it wisdom.

    Fear says, “Stay comfortable.” Curiosity says, “Let’s see what happens.”

    When fear wins, both young and old lose sight of their forward motion. The young adult who fears being judged easily drifts into hopelessness. The older adult who hesitates to dream again slips into quiet surrender. The reasons sound different, yet the root feels the same. Fear has taken the wheel. Stagnation and hopelessness follow.

    Purpose waits just ahead. It lives in the next act of kindness, the next mystery to be solved, the next dream still worth chasing.

    The pathways to a rewarding life have no finish line. Every act of service, every curious step, every daring goal breathes new life into our soul.

    When we explore these paths, joy and fulfillment will be our companion.

    Photo by Line Kjær on Unsplash – I wonder what’s in the next valley.  Let’s go find out. 

    Now and Then

    The days feel long, but our years disappear. I’ve been thinking about how easily “someday” turns into “back then.” We spend so much of life working toward what’s next that we sometimes forget we’re already living the moments we’ll one day remember with gratitude.

    This truth reaches us at every age. Whether we shape our future with intention or let it unfold on its own, it arrives and quietly invites us to participate. This reflection is about the sweetness of now and noticing that these moments become the story we’re creating together.

    Each day arrives on its own, small and full of potential. It doesn’t ask for much. Only our attention, our care, and our willingness to be here. The hours move like honey, slow and golden, rich with sweetness if we take time to notice. Yet the years rush by quietly. One morning we look up and realize the future we worked toward has become the past we cherish.

    What we dreamed about for so long is happening now. This day, with its imperfections, interruptions, and small joys, is the life we once hoped to reach. It’s the tomorrow we imagined, already unfolding beneath our feet.

    Time helps us see backward with gratitude and forward with wonder. We remember the faces and laughter that have softened into memory. We hold them gently, realizing how meaning hides in ordinary moments.

    Each day is a life of its own. Complete, sacred, and fleeting. When we let its minutes open slowly, like sunlight through leaves, we find gratitude sweetening everything it touches. Our wonder grows in quiet places.

    “Then” is always born of “now.” When we live this moment with attention, kindness, and a sense of awe, it never really fades. It simply changes shape, becoming the stories we tell, the lessons we pass along, and the love that lingers long after the moment has gone.

    Photo by Stephen Crane on Unsplash

    In the Steps of Trailblazers

    I’ve probably hiked or biked hundreds, maybe thousands of trail miles in my life.  Most of the trails had been there for many years…even decades. 

    Other than clearing some fallen branches from a trail or participating in a trail volunteer day, I never gave much thought to how the trails were built, or who originally built them.  They were always there.  It didn’t matter if the trails started out as animal paths, or were built by hand, carved through the forest.  The trails seemed to belong right where they were.  

    My perspective shifted when we were fortunate enough to purchase acreage that includes a forested hillside, a mostly dry pond, rocky escarpments, and a meadow thick with trees and scrub brush. 

    Where others may have seen a tangle of impenetrable forest, I could see trails winding through it, paths crisscrossing up and down the hill, around the pond, and maybe a little campsite down in the meadow under the tall trees. 

    I had no idea where to start or where exactly the trails would go.  I just knew the hillside and meadow were calling for a trail system and a campsite that my family and friends could enjoy exploring for years to come.    

    When we moved here, I didn’t own a chain saw, a tractor, or any of the fancy attachments that make tractors such useful (and fun) tools.  I had the standard set of homeowner hand tools from our lifetime of living in a tract home that didn’t have a yard big enough for a lawn.

    The real work began when our new property was hit by a 90 mile per hour derecho that effectively found all the unhealthy trees and snapped them in half or knocked them to the ground.  As I worked my way across our property over the next six months, cutting and clearing all of the downed trees (40-50 trees in all), I got a ton of practice with my new chainsaws, my upgraded tractor (the small one we purchased initially didn’t cut it, so I did what every tractor guy worth his salt does when faced with this dilemma…I upsized), the 5-foot brush hog attachment, and the front loader grapple attachment. 

    As I worked to complete the clearing process, I could see where new trails might go.  As I brush-hogged large swaths of overgrown scrub brush and brambles, new openings showed themselves.  In the areas where I cleared away the dead and fallen trees, nice new grassy areas greeted the sunlight that finally penetrated to the ground.  I could see how trimming up some of the remaining trees would improve the sight lines through the area. 

    Once the land clearing process was mostly done, the real trailblazing process began. Deciding exactly where to cut the trails, which routes worked best given the lay of the land, the gradient of the hillside, natural features, and tree coverage.  Could I veer up and to the right a bit to maintain the trail flow while leaving more trees intact?  Will a hiker be able to maintain their footing if I use the existing (slightly) flatter terrain on the hillside?  Can I make this trail intersect in an interesting way with the other one that’s 200 yards away? 

    So far, I’ve been talking about literal trails and the (rewarding) process of carving a trail system by hand into my property.  I’ve known my share of trailblazers in life and work, and I’ve even been one myself on occasion. It’s funny how, like the paths I was carving through the woods, new trails—whether they’re businesses, inventions, ideas, or methods—often seem inevitable after the fact.

    Once they’re established, they feel as if they’ve always been there. But every one of those trails began with someone willing to face the unknown, to push forward without a clear end in sight, risking failure or embarrassment in the name of carving a new path. 

    Only the people who actually built these trails know what it took to get there.  The obstacles that had to be moved, the dead ends they hit along the way, their moments of doubt. They alone understand the learning curve, the time, and the sheer energy it took to bring the trail to life. And as they move forward, bit by bit, the final route often ends up looking different from what they first imagined.

    Our new trail system is amazing.  It has straight sections, switchback sections, offshoots, shortcuts, climbs, and descents.  Parts of the trail are under a tunnel-like canopy of thick forest and other areas open to the sky, providing amazing hilltop views.  Walking along the trails feels like the landscape was made for them…even though there were countless hours of planning, experimenting, cutting, clearing, and adapting along the way.     

    Sometimes the trailblazer is driven by an obsessive need to see where the trail can go.  To see what lies over the next hill, or around the next bend.  Others visualize how their trail will be enjoyed for years (decades?) to come. 

    While their motivations may differ, the result is often the same.  A path that seems to have always been, enjoyed by countless people who may never stop to wonder how it got there. 

    For those who wonder, the trail offers something more than just a route.  It’s a reminder that someone, somewhere, once walked an untamed path and decided it was worth carving a trail for those who’d come later. 

    Photo by Judy Beth Morris on Unsplash

    The Ripples We Leave Behind

    “No one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away, until the clock wound up winds down, until the wine she made has finished its ferment, until the crop they planted is harvested. The span of someone’s life is only the core of their actual existence.” 

    Terry Pratchett, Source: Reaper Man (h/t – James Clear)

    Every so often, we’re reminded of our mortality…especially as we get older and face the loss of loved ones, both young and old. 

    Truly, it’s a matter of time for each of us.  Not an if, but a when. 

    I appreciated seeing this quote today. 

    It’s a reminder of the enduring mark we leave on others.  Far beyond the days we live, we influence the lives we touch, leaving lasting impressions.  

    A tribute to those we’ve lost and how they continue to be with us.  Our memories of them, the lessons they teach us, their legacy of connections.  All of it remains and echoes in our conversations, our thoughts, our choices, and even in the way we approach the rest of our life.    

    We are here only briefly, but we’re each given the opportunity to plant seeds.  Seeds that, in time, may bear fruit for others long after we’re gone.    

    A gentle reminder to make sure that our legacy is a positive one, filled with love, wisdom, and warmth.

    So the ripples of our lives continue to inspire and uplift those we leave behind.

    Photo by zhang kaiyv on Unsplash

    Kung Fu Masters

    “The measure of a Kung Fu Master isn’t his own Kung Fu, but that of his student.“

    There are many measures of greatness in life. Wealth, fame, popularity.  Just to name a few. These pale by comparison to the positive impact we can and should have on others.

    Look around you. Who are your students? Do you take the time to teach? Are you an example for your students? Are you helping others achieve their greatness, and celebrating when they do?

    We don’t have much time on this planet. Our energy, our ideas, and the passion we have for our ideas can live on in our students…and their students.

    Imagine if each of us were measured like the Kung Fu Master. The truth is that we are, whether we know it or not.