The other night, over a casual taco dinner, one of my grandkids hit me with a question I wasn’t expecting.
“Grandpa, how old will you be in the year 2100?”
Without missing a beat, I shot back, “Nearly 140. Way too old to still be around!”
I may have been off by a few years, but we all agreed: the odds are stacked against me making it to 2100.
Then we started doing the math together, and that’s where things got interesting. They’ll be in their 90s by then. Their children and grandchildren—my great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren—will be alive and thriving in that future world. A reminder that we’re part of something much bigger. Connected to the past, but carried forward by those who will come long after we’ve gone.
“Okay, but how old will you be in 2050?”
That one felt closer, more real. “Well,” I said, “not quite 90, but almost. And you’ll be under 50.”
“What will we be doing in 2050, Grandpa?”
That’s a question only they can answer. I won’t pretend to know. I hope I’m there for at least part of it. I hope I get to laugh with them, to listen, to remind them where they came from, and to cheer them on wherever they’re headed.
Our conversation turned into something more than tacos and timelines. We started talking about how every generation builds on what came before. We carry what we’ve learned from our parents and grandparents, along with our own experiences, and hand all of that to our children and grandchildren. And they, in turn, will do the same.
Their children, my great-grandchildren, aren’t here yet, but I already have high hopes for them. I look forward to holding them, hearing their stories, and watching them discover the world just as their parents are starting to do today.
I hope they’ll learn the big things:
-How a starry sky can quiet our soul.
-How to throw and catch with confidence (it’s baseball season, so this one is top of mind right now).
-How warm and magical a campfire can be…and that S’mores taste better when your hands are sticky.
-How good it feels to help without being asked.
-How to sit quietly with someone we love and say nothing at all.
-How to cheer for someone else, even when the spotlight isn’t ours.
-The peace that comes from a walk in the woods or along a sandy shore.
But I also know they’ll learn things I’ll never understand. Things I can’t even imagine. And that’s exactly as it should be.
My deepest hope is that they’ll carry forward the timeless lessons. That love matters more than being right. That kindness isn’t weakness. That telling the truth is not only brave, but also the only way.
And that family stories are worth retelling…especially the funny ones.
So, here’s to future taco dinners, to great-grandkids I haven’t met, and to the storytellers of tomorrow.
May they keep the best of us within them always.
A Poem for My Grandkids
We sat with tacos, our chips in hand, When you asked a question I hadn’t planned. “Grandpa, will you still be here in 2100?” “Not likely,” I laughed, “I’d be too old by then.”
And then we wondered who’ll be around, Your kids and theirs, with dreams unbound. Building a world we won’t see, Carrying forward the best from you and from me.
We talked of shooting stars and catching balls, Of S’mores by the fire and the night’s gentle call. Of helping for nothing, of walking alone, And learning to love with a heart fully grown.
You’ll learn things I’ll never know, With gadgets and wonders I can’t imagine. Even so, I hope what we’ve lived still finds its place, In stories you tell with a smile on your face.
Here’s to the moments that grow into more, To questions and memories, and tales we explore. May love be your guide in all that you do, And may our stories stay with you, and echo on through time.
p/c – That’s Charlie (in the cowboy hat) and Marcus from a few years ago, perfecting their marshmallow roasting techniques.
At kilometer 32 just south of San Felipe, where warm breezes wandered, and stars blanketed the sky — more stars than anywhere I’ve ever been.
Off-road racing brought us there, wide sandy beaches just a short walk away, bathtub-warm waters stretching out forever, the tides carving their quiet stories in the sand.
Under their shady palapa, watching the sun rise and fall on the horizon, Mom and Dad built their place from scratch, one humble project at a time. It was luxury camping at its very best.
Their place was just across the arroyo from the beach, where Dad taught Julianne to drive a stick shift on the wide-open sand.
How I long to beam back there. To see them again.
To hear their voices busy with new plans, to see what they’ve been working on, to sit with them in the shade at cocktail hour, chips, salsa, and all the shrimp we could eat, as the afternoon melts softly into evening.
I’d love to hear who’s come to visit lately.
Both are gone now, but the memories remain. Their laughter rides the breeze, as fresh as the salty air, that still stirs in my heart.
Backstory: A Campo Sahuaro Adventure
When Mom and Dad bought their lot around 1988, it was nothing more than a small concrete slab and four stakes marking the corners of their sandy “oasis.” What made this campo special was its access to a fresh water well…rare in that part of Baja.
Their lot sat on a bluff overlooking an arroyo, with the Sea of Cortez just beyond the sandy beach. In Mexico, buying a lot like this meant purchasing a long-term lease from the property owner. As long as you pay the annual lease (which was under $1,000 per year) you control the land. Anything they built on it was theirs.
Because Mexico has nationalized property in the past, many Americans build semi-permanent structures that can be dismantled and hauled away if needed. That kind of caution remains, even though nothing like that has happened in a very long time.
Being a concrete guy, Dad’s priority was pouring a lot of concrete. He laid down a huge patio that would become the base for everything else, including one of the largest shade structures I’ve ever seen. It didn’t happen overnight. This was a multi-trip (multi-year) endeavor, often coinciding with supporting Team Honda’s off-road racing efforts. They’d haul supplies and tools down along with pit equipment. In the early ’90s, sourcing building materials in Baja was still hit or miss so they brought most of what they needed with them.
By around 1991, Dad was ready to build a workshop. It would be like a shipping container, made of wood, with big swing-down doors on each end that doubled as ramps. He welded little leveling stands to the top of each door so they could serve as sleeping platforms when opened. I slept on those doors under the stars every chance I got.
As with everything at Campo Sahuaro, there’s a story behind that build.
We were down there pitting for Team Honda, which meant several fellow pit crew members were staying at my parents’ place. At that point, it was mostly a shaded patio and a small pump room. Many of the guys were carpenters, so they brought their tools and were ready to build.
Dad’s motorhome was packed. The center aisle was filled with 2x4s, stacked at least five feet high. Getting around inside was nearly impossible. Behind the motorhome, he towed a converted motorcycle trailer that he’d built at least ten years earlier. It was loaded with a perfectly stacked cube of 4×8 plywood sheets. The walls of the future workshop.
I happened to be traveling with them on that trip, ready to help with both pitting and construction. About 50 miles from the campo, we heard a loud crash and scraping noise. We were driving across a dry lakebed, the road raised 15–20 feet above the flat terrain. I looked out just in time to see the trailer tumbling down the embankment.
Dad got the motorhome stopped, and we rushed out to assess the damage. The trailer tongue had sheared clean off under the weight of the plywood. Thankfully, it hadn’t failed earlier, during high-traffic sections of our trip. The trailer was upside down in the lakebed, still lashed to its cargo. That cube of plywood was completely intact.
Within minutes, two vans carrying some of our crew pulled up behind us. We counted heads — at least ten of us, including a few high school football players. It wouldn’t take long to relocate all that wood.
A chain gang formed. We passed sheet after sheet of plywood up the embankment and loaded it onto the vans, lashing them down with tie-downs and ropes we’d salvaged from the trailer. We even hauled the trailer carcass back up the hill. At the very least, we figured we’d salvage the tires and axle.
That’s when an old Toyota pickup rolled up. A local man hopped out. I greeted him with my high-school-turned-Baja-race-pit-guy-Spanish. Lots of smiling, gesturing, and broken sentences later, we learned he was a welder and fabricator. He was heading to San Felipe to visit family and watch the race.
He looked over our trailer, nodding thoughtfully. He said he could take the trailer on his truck bed along with the remains of the tongue and hitch. He’d rebuild it and leave the rebuilt trailer at his brother’s restaurant in San Felipe. We asked him how much he’d charge us for that service. His response was $20(!).
I confirmed that his plan was to haul our trailer back to his shop (about 40-50 miles back), rebuild it, and then he’d tow it all the way down to San Felipe for $20. We told him there was no way we’d let him do that for anything less than $200. His eyes got real wide. I don’t think he believed what I was saying. I said that we’d gladly pay him that amount for all that he’d be doing for us.
We loaded the trailer carcass onto his truck bed, shook his hand, and paid him the agreed $200. We wouldn’t be able to see him at the conclusion of the job, so pre-payment was our only option. He turned around with his new load and headed back to his shop.
We mounted up and continued to Campo Sahuaro, wondering if we’d ever see that trailer again.
The Workshop Rises
The race went great. The workshop was built in a day or two with the expert help of our crew. The carpenters led the way and the rest of us did our best to help and stay out of their way. Copious amounts of alcohol were consumed around the campfire, many snacks and excellent meals were eaten, heroic stories (some of them true) were shared with lots of laughter along the way.
On the way home, we stopped at Baja 2000, the restaurant where our mystery welder said he’d leave the repaired trailer. And there it was.
Not only had he fixed it. He’d reinforced it, straightened the bent parts, and welded it all back together better than before.
Legacy
Over the years, I visited Campo Sahuaro many times, sometimes with my wife and daughters. As mentioned earlier, Dad taught my oldest daughter to drive a stick shift truck on the beach in front of their place when she was probably 12 or 13 years old.
I loved knowing the stories behind everything built there. Most of the stories involved improvisation, imagination, and always perseverance. There were a ton of lessons at their property about staying focused and overcoming obstacles in the pursuit of your goals.
I loved sleeping under that blanket of stars, watching satellites traverse the sky (there’s a lot more of them up there nowadays). I loved swimming in the warm ocean. Most of all, I loved being with Mom and Dad, sharing good times and making memories with them at their special place, 32 kilometers south of San Felipe.
p/c – I asked ChatGPT to make an image of a starry night on the beach based on my story. Amazingly, the image it rendered is mostly how I remember it…except for the houses on the front row (Mom and Dad’s place was on the second row), and the dry-docked fishing skiffs that used the campo as their base of operations.
Thought leaders play a critical role in any organization. Sometimes, they have titles like CEO, COO, CIO, etc. Other times, the real thought leaders are deep within the organization—formally or informally influencing the speed and direction of progress. Often, it’s a mix of both (most ideal, in my opinion).
It doesn’t take long working with people (in business or everyday life) to recognize some common personality types. See if any of these sound familiar:
The Opportunist – “What’s in it for me?”
The Rule Follower – “What will our boss think?”
The Naysayer – “Let me tell you all the ways this won’t work.”
The Over-Analyzer – “Shouldn’t we think about this more?”
The Idea Generator – ”What about this new approach to the problem?”
The Go-Getter – “Why are we sitting here doing nothing… let’s move!”
The Rebel – “Who cares what the boss thinks?”
The Doer – “We’ve got all we need, so let’s start.”
The Supporter – “How can I help you with your goals?”
The Invisible Worker – “I don’t want to get noticed.”
The Minimalist – “How can I get by doing the least amount of work?”
The Escape Artist – “If this goes wrong, I wasn’t here.”
Which one is best?
That depends on the situation.
I tend to gravitate toward those who accept responsibility, take risks, and aggressively seek solutions. I like working with people who act first, ask for forgiveness later, and push organizations toward innovation and progress.
But even the most action-driven person benefits from a counterbalance. Someone who asks the tough questions, who sees the risks, who insists on analyzing every angle. Their input can temper an ambitious plan, provide a broader perspective, and uncover blind spots the team might otherwise miss.
Too many cautious over-analyzers, and an organization stalls. But completely ignoring their input? That’s a recipe for reckless decision making.
Look around your organization, your circle of friends, and the people you admire. How many of them fit into one or more of these categories? More importantly, which one(s) fits you?
And if you’re building a team for your next big project, who do you want on that team? Who will give your project the highest chance of success?
The key to a successful team isn’t about having just one type of person. It’s about striking the right balance. Recognizing that the strengths and weaknesses of each personality type will allow you to build a team that works effectively together, balancing momentum with careful consideration.
The best teams blend different perspectives and working styles to make smarter decisions and drive lasting progress.
Choose wisely, because the right mix can be the difference between failure and success.
The year spent training for a triathlon isn’t just about race day. It’s about the discipline, endurance, and self-discovery that come with each mile ran, every beach swim, and each grueling mile logged on the bike. The race is the goal, but the transformation to triathlete happens during the journey to the starting line.
What about Basic Training for the Marine Corps (something I haven’t personally experienced)? Recruits aren’t merely learning the basic skills they’ll need to be successful. They are becoming something entirely new…a Marine. The recruit is transformed into a Marine by the training process.
Consider a four-year college degree. It’s been said (not sure who said it first) that the main thing a recruiter learns about a college graduate is that they had to apply themselves adequately over a four (or five, or six) year period to get enough class credits to graduate in their chosen major. Each college graduates’ journey is different, and that journey is often as valuable as the classes they had to take to get their degree.
Even smaller experiences like a short hike, a long drive to visit family, or a phone call with a friend can offer more than just their immediate outcomes. They can provide moments of reflection, connection, and growth.
Life’s experiences are not just a series of goals to be checked off or memories to be cherished.
When we learn to enjoy the process and the lessons along the way, we gain something far more valuable: growth, understanding, and the ability to appreciate the transforming power of our journey.
Early in my career, during my time as an internal auditor, I learned a lot about people. I spent countless hours observing and interacting with individuals at all levels of organizations, from front-line employees to CEOs. This unique vantage point taught me a foundational lesson: the success of any organization usually hinges on the character and behavior of its leaders.
In our small audit teams, we developed a shorthand to quickly convey our impressions of the people we interviewed. We’d use these labels —like Adam Henry and Don Henry— to help summarize complex personalities in a few words. After interview meetings, we might describe our interviewee as a good guy, a solid operator, an Adam Henry, a Don Henry, or perhaps someone who was DUP, or DUC.
Let me translate those last four:
Adam Henry – Asshole
Don Henry – Dickhead
DUP – Definitely Unpleasant (not quite an Adam Henry)
DUC – Definitely Unclear (meaning they seemed like an idiot)
What’s the difference between an Adam Henry and a Don Henry? While both are problematic, the distinction lies in their approach and the impact on those around them. Adam might be uncooperative and arrogant, but Don takes it a step further—using their position to intimidate others and make them feel as dumb as possible. Don loves to belittle people and fosters a toxic environment that stifles collaboration and creativity.
Were our shorthand judgments fair? They may not have been, but they were usually quite accurate based on our interactions. Remember, most people are on their “best” behavior when talking to an auditor (even though most of us would rather not talk to auditors). Imagine if they weren’t on their best behavior.
These judgments, though informal, often reflected deeper truths about the individuals we encountered. A company with too many Don Henrys, for instance, might struggle with low morale, high turnover, and a lack of innovation—challenges that will cripple long-term success.
There was nothing special about us, as auditors, making these assessments of the people we were interviewing. All of us make these assessments as we work with other people. These same assessments are being made about us by other people all the time.
Is this person a good guy, a strong operator, a pleasant person, a team player? Or are they on the opposite end of the spectrum? Should I trust this person to have my best interests at heart, or are they solely in this for their own gain at all costs?
Companies of all sizes, no matter the industry, are made up of human beings, working as a group (hopefully as a team, but not always) to achieve key goals (hopefully the organization’s goals).
If the people who manage a company are Adam Henrys, or worse—Don Henrys, that organization will have difficulty succeeding. They might succeed in the short term, but over a multi-year time horizon, these negative traits in the people managing the business will lead to poor morale, declining creativity, declining teamwork, and declining execution.
Recognizing and addressing “Don Henry” behaviors is crucial for any organization aiming for sustained success. Leaders who prioritize their team’s well-being, encourage collaboration, and foster a positive work environment are far more likely to achieve lasting results.
The next time you’re interacting with colleagues, ask yourself: Am I being an Adam Henry, a Don Henry, or something better?
I follow a small handful of Youtubers. Most of the channels I watch focus on small business owners in various industries, or folks who are building an independent lifestyle…mostly off-grid.
I love to watch them create something valuable and useful out of nothing but an idea and their belief that they can do it. Sometimes they succeed on their first try, other times they need to adjust and try again. I admire their willingness to push themselves way outside their comfort zone in pursuit of the way they want to live.
This past weekend, I watched as the twenty-year-old daughter of someone I follow took the plunge to start her own coffee house. She has 1-2 years of experience being a barista and talked about how much she loved that job, her teammates, and her customers.
She told a nice story about how her mom met her dad 20-plus years ago. He and his band came to perform at the coffee house where her mom worked as a barista. She said that she would be investing her life savings in this new venture.
She started by leasing a 1,900 square-foot space that had all the bones to become a great coffee house location. She and her mom set about visualizing and planning the space, identifying the equipment she’d need, and how they’d work together to remodel the space. They talked about where the small kitchen would go, how the prep tables would be organized, where the coffee counter and espresso machines would go, how the space would be decorated for comfort and a relaxing vibe.
As I watched them walk around visualizing, the experienced business manager in me started thinking about all the paperwork she’d need to file. The health code permits, the special equipment she’d need, the certifications that may be required to serve food, the creation of a business and DBA, opening bank accounts, capitalizing, and accounting for the business…sales and income tax filings.
I wondered how many customers she’d need to serve each day to generate an adequate cash flow and profit. Had she identified her suppliers? Did she know the supply costs yet? How many employees would she need to hire to cover all the shifts? Was she ready to establish a payroll process for her new employees, establish HR systems, purchase the various insurance coverages she’d need, including worker’s compensation coverage.
Cut to the next scene in their video, and they’re filing the DBA paperwork, and starting to file the health code paperwork and forms. It turns out that there is a healthy server certification that she’ll need to obtain (which includes a ton of study materials and a written test).
She was undeterred. She plowed straight into the process, all the while renovating and remodeling the space along with the help of friends and family. It was truly a labor of love for her. After 3-4 weeks of work, the place was starting to take shape.
What happens next? I’ll be tuning in next week to find out.
There’s a prevailing stereotype that youth and inexperience are synonymous with recklessness and abandon.
How can this 20-year-old possibly know enough to successfully launch her new coffee business?
Look more closely and it may be that her lack of experience and knowledge are the catalyst for her leap into entrepreneurship. She knows that she doesn’t want to work for someone else, and she loved her experience being a barista. Why not create her own coffee house?
One of the paradoxes of entrepreneurship is that knowledge, while valuable, can sometimes become a barrier to action. Older generations, armed with years of experience and a deep understanding of the intricacies involved in starting and running a business, may find themselves paralyzed by the fear of failure, or an unwillingness to put in all the work they know lies ahead. Knowing what they know, they can easily talk themselves out of almost anything.
On the other hand, young entrepreneurs often possess an infectious optimism and a sense of invincibility that propels them forward. Unencumbered by the weight of past failures or the mounting responsibilities of adulthood, they approach new ventures with a boldness that can be both exhilarating and inspiring. Their willingness to take risks stems not from ignorance, but from a belief that they can overcome any obstacle that stands in their way.
They are adaptable, more willing to pivot and change course when facing unexpected challenges. They haven’t yet become set in their ways or entrenched in established routines, allowing them to embrace change with a sense of excitement rather than fear. They view setbacks not as roadblocks, but as opportunities for growth and learning.
Young entrepreneurs understand the value of learning by doing. They’re not afraid to dive into the nitty-gritty of running a business, knowing that experience is the best teacher.
Will any of it be easy? No.
Will she have moments of self-doubt, and fear of failing? Yes.
Will she overcome the wall of worry and doubt, plus all the challenges associated with owning and running a successful business? Maybe, but I know she has what it takes to make it successful.
Would I open a coffee house at this point in my life? Nope.
But I love that she’s pursuing her dream. I love that her parents are there to help. I can already see that they’re being supportive, but also letting her drive the process, take the risks, and make the decisions.
If she were to ask for my advice, I’d tell her to consider the following (in no particular order):
Create or join a network of trusted allies and service providers. Join the local Chamber of Commerce, a BNI chapter, or a group that has other business owners as members. You’ll get to meet other entrepreneurs, compare notes with them, and many of them will provide services and expertise that you can use.
Focus on the customer’s experience in everything you do. Advocate for your customers and they will advocate for you.
Start your marketing and awareness campaign long before the day you open your business. While you’re remodeling the interior or your space, take the time to remodel and brand the exterior. Put up “coming soon” signs. Try to generate as much anticipation in your surrounding neighborhood as possible…again, long before opening day.
If possible, ensure that your business has at least 3 months (or more) of operating capital in the bank at any time. The more, the better. You never know when something unexpected might happen…a big expense or capital investment opportunity, or maybe a cyclical downturn in your business.
Remember that leaders always eat last. This means you’ll probably have some lean times, financially. Keeping your business healthy and paying your employees must come first. It’s quite possible that you won’t be pulling anything that looks like a paycheck from your business for 6-12 months. Prepare for this and realize it’s completely normal.
As you hire employees, whether they’re part-time or full-time, make sure they know your values, why your coffee house is special, why they are fortunate to be part of your team and that you feel blessed and fortunate to have them on your team.
Advocate for your employees, but don’t be afraid to quickly let go of employees who aren’t embracing your company culture. You need to employ believers in your mission…anything less is unacceptable. I don’t remember who said it but hire slowly and fire fast. Both are extremely difficult to do in practice but will pay off with amazing results if you’re able to do it.
p/c – Nathan Lemon – Unsplash
Want to see what happens next with Belle’s coffee house?
Procrastination initiates a cascade of preventable urgencies, turning manageable tasks into overwhelming burdens and sowing seeds of chaos in our future.
Few things strike fear into the hearts of students quite like the term paper.
The teacher lays out the assignment – a substantial research paper requiring thorough analysis and a minimum of 5000 words. Oh yeah…and half of your grade in the class will be based on how well you do on the term paper. You have until the last week of the semester to get it done.
You think about the topic. You might even jot down some notes on your phone about how you’ll approach it. But there’s no need to rush on this assignment. You have plenty of time. Besides, your friends are heading out to get some tacos and margaritas at your favorite Mexican restaurant. This term paper can wait another day.
As the weeks go by, a creeping feeling of impending doom grips your subconscious. You haven’t started work on that term paper. Growing anxiety and stress become unwelcome companions as the deadline looms closer, and you realize the gravity of the task at hand.
Unfortunately, you have other things on your plate that need more attention. Ironically, many of these more-urgent items are other long-term projects that you had chosen to delay…until now.
The urgency of the term paper magnifies as the deadline inches closer. The once-manageable project becomes an overwhelming burden.
You start to question the fairness of the assignment. How can this teacher expect me to write 5000 words on this topic when I have all these other classes to manage and so little time to get it done?
A cascade of preventable urgencies engulfs your life, leaving you in a world of self-inflicted chaos.
Sound familiar?
The term paper saga is a small-scale reflection of the self-inflicted busyness and chaos in our lives.
Only a disciplined and methodical approach to our tasks can break the grip of procrastination. Our bias must be toward thoughtful and immediate action, not mindless delays to another day.
The time to start work on that long-term project is now, not tomorrow. The time to continue work on that long-term project is tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day after that.
Procrastination is a choice. Each delay we accept sows seeds of chaos in our future. Every task we postpone adds to the burden our future selves must bear.
Polynomials suck, but they aren’t the obstacle that matters most…
I used to hear one question a lot when I was a kid.
Whether an adult was asking me, or another kid my age, it was always the same:
What are you going to be when you grow up?
In second grade, I knew I wanted to be a doctor. My friend wanted to be a fireman. Another friend wanted to be a professional skateboarder.
By high school, I was still thinking doctor, or maybe veterinarian. One of my friends planned to be an engineer, another wanted to teach, and one planned to go to the Air Force Academy and become a fighter pilot (he just retired from the Air Force a few years ago).
In my senior year in high school I ran into Algebra 2. More specifically, factoring polynomials. FOIL method. Up to that point, math had made sense. Plug the numbers into the formulas, and get your answer. X equals 11, Y equals 9. Pythagorean Theorem? Piece of cake. Word problems? Easy.
But, polynomials made no sense. The magic of the FOIL method didn’t help. First, Outside, Inside, Last? Solving for multiple variables that cancel each other out in some mysterious way? Arriving at an answer that looks as cryptic as the original question? What does a polynomial look like if you draw one? When will we ever use this in real life? I’d say it was all Greek to me, but I didn’t know Greek either, or Latin.
I hadn’t even reached Calculus (the math all the other brainiacs were taking in their senior year), and I’d hit a wall.
I could see the handwriting on the chalkboard (teachers used to write on them before whiteboards were invented). To become a doctor would require a science degree of some kind. That science degree would require a ton of math well beyond polynomials…maybe even Calculus. What comes after Calculus?! And, what about Latin? Doctors all seemed to use Latin. How would I learn that? It wasn’t even offered at my high school. And, what about getting into medical school? Did I have eight years to give up? How would I pay for all of it? This was going to be hard!
We each have a strategic thinking instinct. The ability to prioritize, make deductions, create connections, and map out a direction. Or, multiple directions.
Unfortunately, more often than not, we either ignore our strategic thinking capability, or we use it to map out why something is impossible. We visualize all the obstacles while ignoring the path around, over, or through them. We neatly stack all the obstacles into an impenetrable wall, rather than a series of hurdles to be taken one-at-a-time.
My doctor plans went down in flames…but, I was the one pointing the metaphorical plane into the ground.
Could I have found a way to understand polynomials? Yes. Could I have dealt with Calculus? Yes. What about Latin? Yes. What about getting into medical school? Yes. Did I have what it took to become a doctor? Probably (we will never know).
Did I allow myself to realize any of this at the time? No. I was too busy jumping toward another goal that had fewer obstacles, or so I thought. One that didn’t require Calculus. One that I could get my head around, and see more clearly.
I now understand something I didn’t back when I was a high school senior. I’m not sure I understood it by the time I was a college senior either. Our biggest obstacle, the one that matters more than any of the obstacles we can see, the obstacle that trumps all others, is staring back at us in the mirror. Find your way around, over, or through yourself, and you are well on your way to overcoming almost any other obstacle in your path…maybe even polynomials.
“Bobby (what anyone who knew me before I was about 13 calls me), it all started with an earache. The doctor gave me some ear drops. The pain didn’t stop and seemed to get worse, so he gave me stronger drops. That still didn’t work. He ran some tests and told me it’s cancer, and I’m gonna die. It was an earache, and then I was dying. He says that I will probably just die in my sleep, so each time I wake up, it’s a surprise.”
In Pete’s case, it took about four months for the cancer specialists to identify the type of cancer that is killing him. He told me the name, and said it is very rare, untreatable, and fast moving. I made a mental note to look up the cancer and learn more about it. As I type this post, I have forgotten its name.
The fact that each of us will die is no surprise. The timing is the surprising part. That, and the name of the thing that ultimately causes our death. There’s always a name.
I remember a conversation I had with Grandpa Clyde (my wife’s grandfather) at least ten years ago. He was in his late-80’s at the time, showing me how to cook ribs properly on a barbeque. I asked him what it was like to have lived as long as he had. I will never forget his response. “If you live long enough, you say goodbye to a lot of friends and family. Most of the people I grew up with are dead and gone. I stopped going to funerals a long time ago. I spend my time making new friends, and enjoying this time I’ve been given with my family.”
Growing up, Pete was one of my role models for a life worth living. A firefighter, motorcycle tuner, racer, helmet painter, wheelie king, runner, water skier, speeding ticket magnet, traveler, and a Bluegrass fan. Although I never actually saw it, he used to say that he also jumped rope, attended three world fairs, and a few other things that are probably better left unmentioned. Pete never stopped making new friends, or appreciating his old friends. He grabbed all that life has to offer, and then some.
Pete wears a patch over his right eye now. The tumor has grown and prevents that eye from blinking. He is in a lot of pain, and the pain medications cloud the passage of time. This hasn’t stopped Pete from grabbing what life has left for him. He is living each remaining day as a surprise.
In truth, each day is a surprise for all of us. An opportunity to appreciate our family and friends. An opportunity to make new friends, and enjoy what little time we’ve been given.
Grandpa Bob Encouraging Leadership 
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