It is the location of a personal writing retreat I have been on for the last two plus days.

To retreat is to withdraw or pull back. Sometimes it is from conflict, other times from society or even ourselves.

A retreat at a convent is, as you might imagine, a unique experience. There are only a dozen or so guests here at this vast property. Most of which are here as part of two different silent retreat groups. Six or so people sitting around tables at meals or benches outside, saying not a word to each other for days.

Because so many are on silent retreats, the rest of us are expected to likewise be as quiet as possible. This creates a strange game when you pass by someone in the halls. No one speaks but rather smiles and nods.

The rooms are sparse. A bed, a desk and chair and a recliner. Bathrooms are shared. The doors do not lock. The assumption being who would dare steal something at a convent!

Three meals are served each day and you have a forty-five minute window to come eat. Where again you will sit in mostly silence. Unless the nuns are dining. They are a boisterous bunch.

There are no televisions, albeit one is rumored in the nun’s wing - where apparently they all gathered to watch the Knicks game.

I’ve walked the bucolic grounds that abut the Hudson River, mostly in solitude with the exception of a gaggle of wild turkeys who have their run of the place. I stumbled upon a small cemetery where the previous inhabitants are laid to rest. In reading the flat grave markers, it is remarkable to see how long these nuns lived. Most into their late eighties or nineties, several to over a hundred. The benefits of simple living.

One evening I visited the empty chapel. Sitting in the dark, lit only by the gloaming sun rays refracted through the stained glass. I prayed for my family and friends, those in conflict around the world, and people I know who are suffering right now.

And of course, I wrote. Which was, after all, the purpose of this retreat. I was perhaps more prolific in that regard than any other short burst I can recall. I wrote a draft for a magazine article, finished revising a second draft of the book I’m working on, started a play and am now writing this.

The retreat was organized in advance. I scheduled eight two hour writing blocks - each with a project in mind. I gave myself breaks lasting an hour or two in between. During those breaks, I ate or read or walked or swam at their pool. The latter was also an interesting experience as it was usually just me and the two lifeguards on hand - who again didn’t speak. With no choices I need to make for myself or others and so little to distract me, it was relatively easy to focus. The fact that this was a Christmas gift to me from my wife and one I had long resisted giving to myself, added a level of accountability that was most helpful.

Of course, retreats need not occur at a convent, over several days or even over night. We can withdraw from the daily distractions for a morning or afternoon. Finding any place that is novel and allows focus, contemplation or complete silence if that’s your thing.

Later today, I will rejoin my family. My retreat or withdrawal from them will be over - and not a minute too soon. For as much as I have enjoyed my time away from the noise, responsibility and chaos of family life, I am eager to be awash in it again.

Recommendation of the Week. Last night, after I had finished my last writing session, I laid in bed with my headphones on and listened to several episodes of Song Exploder, a podcast where an artist takes you through their creative process for a specific song. I loved it. Two specific episodes worth checking out are Noah Kahan sharing the story behind Stick Season and Brandi Carisle speaking about You and Me on the Rock. They are both so vulnerable in sharing their stories.

Consider sharing this with someone who could use a retreat themselves.

The scene itself is tense and heavy until suddenly it is neither. Watch the before and after here.

The word forgive comes from an Old English term “to give away” or “to give completely.” True forgiveness doesn’t come in half measures. You either forgive or you don’t.

Years ago, I received a Facebook message from a person I didn’t know. It was the wife of my former stepfather. He was dying and asked if I would come see him. He was often a mean, hateful, cruel man. His treatment of his stepchildren was undeniably harsh and almost never loving. His words stung, his looks scared, his overall presence scarred. At the time of this request, he had long been out of our lives. I tried to give him as little thought as possible. Avoidance was a means of protecting myself, choosing not to relive any of those days.

So I ignored the request. He died several months later.

Looking back, I regret this decision. I passed on the opportunity to perhaps provide relief to a man who was suffering. Actually two men.

In Shrinking, through flashbacks, we learn the backstory of the drunk driver. He was just out for dinner with friends and his fiancee. He was not supposed to drive that night - she was. Realizing that she had too much to drink, she asked if he could drive instead. Thinking he only had a few drinks, he tragically obliged. In other flashbacks, he seemed a kind and selfless man, fully devoted to his soul mate. The accident ended a life, and a relationship.

Later I would learn that my stepfather treated us similarly to the way his father treated him. He was seen as the black sheep in his family - never able to win the approval of this father. He drank too much, worked too hard and had no obvious instincts or tools for parenting or managing stress. He loved my mother and took on her three kids as we were a packaged deal. He was a decent provider even as he withheld resources and love - presumably out of a misguided attempt to build our independence or toughness.

When we are wronged - either in a single tragic moment or a thousand cuts over years - we understandably don’t pause to wonder what is behind their actions that hurt us. Forgetting that hurt people hurt people. In the place of searching for understanding, we allow resentment, anger, hurt and resentment to fester.

There is the pain that others cause us and the pain we continue to carry with us.

Forgiveness can free us from at least one of these.

This week’s recommendation: Check out the show Shrinking. Forgiveness is a recurring theme. It is a messy show of challenging dynamics and dysfunctional relationships. It will make you laugh and think. Most of all it will make you feel.

Consider sharing this with someone in need of forgiveness. Either receiving it or giving it. I can’t send this to my former stepfather, but if I could I would simply say, “I forgive you, Bob.”

Within the last week, all have been described as earnest.

There are several definitions of the word, but the meaning applied in each of these cases was “sincerity with seriousness or purpose.”

I hope seeing these seemingly unrelated examples is a signal that earnestness is becoming more in fashion as a trait we value.

In the not too distant past, being earnest was met with skepticism. People or their creative endeavors described as earnest were often dismissed as naive, self-serious, of idealistic. The jaded people doing the dismissing seemed to be channeling their own cynicism or discontentment.

Case in point: Years ago, in a review for one of my children’s books a critic described it as too earnest. (Yes there are critics of children’s books and apparently at least one thinks it’s possible to be too sincere.)

Often characters in popular culture who are earnest start out as caricatures. We begin by laughing AT Ted Lasso or Leslie Knope (Amy Poehler from Parks and Rec.) Until eventually, we see that their heartfelt attempts at making their worlds better are quite serious - even if their methods seem strange. We ultimately laugh WITH them and cheer for their success. We long to have a little more of what they have in our lives.

Previous generations seemed to have no shortage of characters - real and fictional - that stood out as exemplars of earnestness. From Mr. Rogers to Mary Tyler Moore to practically every character Jimmy Stewart ever played.

It’s worth noting that earnestness in music seems to stand the test of time. From Joni Mitchell to Bruce Springsteen to Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran, we laud their commitment to write with sincerity and purpose.

In other fields, earnestness is more difficult to find. Earnest politicians and CEOs seem to be in short supply.

Oscar Wilde’s play, The Importance of Being Earnest, is social commentary of the value of honesty and sincerity in a society that too often valued superficiality. The two main male characters pretend their name is “Ernest” in order to impress women as it was perceived to be of higher moral integrity.

Now we don’t even seem to pretend to be earnest - forgoing the quality all together. It’s worth noting the usage of the word peaked in the periods between 1880-1930 (around when the play was written) and has been less and less common ever since.

Perhaps seeing these three examples within a week is a sign that we are once again recognizing the importance of being earnest. Or maybe it’s just confirmation bias on my part as I’ve been thinking about the word a lot lately.

Either way, I’m going to resist my cynical tendencies to dismiss, scoff, question or laugh at the earnestness around me and instead seek it out - because I usually find it both inspiring and hopeful - if I only give it a chance.

Recommendation: I recently saw the movie, Silent Friend. While I didn’t think of it at the time, all three characters which span different storylines over a hundred years could be described as earnest. It is a meditative and beautiful film that explores nature, science and our need for connection.

Consider sharing this with someone whose earnestness you appreciate but perhaps have never acknowledged.

All told it is estimated that at least 500 million people have died in all wars and human conflicts throughout human history. Other estimates put the number at closer to 1.5 billion people. Based on the latter number, that means over 1% of the people who have ever lived have died in war.

Global conflicts cost the world economy almost $20 trillion dollars last year alone. This is estimated to be 12% of the global GDP.

It is estimated that the average American family has spent $200 more just in gas since the beginning of the Iran War.

Of course, these costs - measured in lives and money - don’t even capture the environmental costs, social costs, psychological costs, generational costs or opportunity costs of war. The last refers to what we could have been doing with those lives and money instead.

One interesting statistic from the Brown University’s, Costs of War project shows that for every million dollars spent on the military we create five jobs. By comparison, for every million dollars spent in education we create thirteen.

There are many reasons countries (or perhaps more accurately stated - political leaders) go to war. Some are noble: Independence, security, sovereignty, human rights. Others not so much: To acquire land, territory, power, oil, or other valuable resources. One such resource I learned of recently was bird shit. Yes you read that right, the United States and other countries raced and fought over colonizing small islands in the Pacific and Caribbean oceans for the right to claim the guano (bird shit) that had accumulated there. Ironically, guano was highly sought after because it was a key ingredient for the creation of … wait for it….explosives.

Of course, there are safeguards in place meant to protect us from going into unnecessary wars. Chief among them is the requirement of congressional approval.

Sadly, in the 135 armed conflicts we’ve been engaged in - only eleven have received that explicit approval (approximately 8%). In another 50%, Presidents used other general statutory authorizations to go to war. The remaining 42%? The President unilaterally sent our troops into harm’s way without any approval at all.

Last night, I was helping my daughter study for a history final. She was specifically reviewing chapters on the Cold War. As we reviewed the Korean War, we both learned that over the course of the three-year conflict five million people died - more than half of which were civilians. When the ceasefire was agreed to, the border between North and South Korea was set almost exactly where it was when the conflict began.

Her response to this was telling - a dejected “Wow.” When we finished reviewing the entire unit which covered conflict after conflict, she just stated under her breath. “Bro, we have to stop fighting.”

Indeed we do.

Recommendation of the Week: This Memorial Day, I will be watching this PBS documentary on the sinking of the HMT Rohna - one that claimed the life of my grandfather. I recommend watching/reading anything that reminds you of the personal cost of war.

Consider sharing this email with your elected representatives, who have still not authorized our current conflict.

Once released from our childhood whimsies, we grow to see the dandelion as a nuisance. Something that detracts from a well manicured lawn. Almost impossible to eradicate. We liken it to a weed that is without merit or value. We are wrong.

Dandelions are, in fact, great for soil health. They have varied and potent medicinal value. Not only are they edible but they hold more nutritional value than most vegetables we eat. They are, like most things in nature, divine and miraculous.

To overlook the potential of a flower at our feet is unfortunate but understandable. To overlook the potential of a student right in front of us is an altogether different matter.

I am fortunate to teach at two different universities. One is private and one is public. One is very expensive and the other quite affordable. As a result, they attract students who are typically from dramatically different economic classes.

It is not fair to compare college students and the challenges they face. For they are largely out of their control. At the same time, when employers look at lines of a resume, they will often miss the full story of what has led them to this point.

Most of my students at City College are first generation, meaning they don’t have much guidance in navigating the worlds of higher education or white collar job searches. Most work in college, meaning they are more likely to miss out on extracurricular activities like club and unpaid internships that bolster a resume. They have commutes that are often one to two hours. This combined with their jobs and family responsibilities make it more likely they will miss some classes or be late to others. My experience has also shown that grade inflation is a much bigger issue at expensive private colleges than it is as public ones. One theory being that - perhaps subconsciously - no one wants to upset a customer (parent) who is paying $80K+ for an education.

The net is that when two resumes hit a desk, it is easy to overlook one. This would be a mistake.

As they say, talent is evenly distributed even as opportunity and investment are not.

I am blown away by the eagerness to learn, to improve, to grow and to contribute that these students demonstrate. Their depth of thought, humility, compassion, and street smarts make them ideal employees for any company or organization. If only you stop to look a little closer. The added benefit, similar to that of the dandelion, is that when you do, the seeds you plant will spread across the land for generations to come.

Recommendation for the Week: Run - don’t walk - to go see the movie Sheep Detectives. It is funny, moving, and so heartfelt. Within the story line, is another overlooked thing of beauty - winter sheep - that will steal your heart. Trust me you and your family will love it - regardless of your age.

Consider sharing this with anyone you know who has hiring responsibilities.

I’ve written about moms frequently over the years. Topics ranged from the surprising history of Mother’s Day, ideas for belated Mother’s Day gifts, the challenges mom’s faced over COVID, and our unfortunate tendency to take them for granted.

In many of these cases, my starting point was either my own mom or my wife - the mother of our three children.

But consider the number referenced above. There are eight-five million moms in America right now. Collectively, they have brought hundreds of millions of people of all ages into this world. That is a staggering contribution to humankind - if they never did anything else at all. But of course they do.

I have been fortunate to bear witness to the incredible strength and sacrifice of not just my own mom and wife but of so many countless others. Moms who raise kids on their own. Moms who juggle a ridiculous amount of responsibilities. Moms who do without so their children can have more. Moms who help differently abled sons and daughters feel whole. Moms who show up and show up and show up. Moms who love unconditionally - even when circumstances may push that assumption. Moms who just make things work even when the world isn’t cooperating.

In looking back at all the moms I’ve known, I see things now that I missed then. As a child, I remember moms who just needed a break and turned to a long drag off a Pall Mall. I remember others working quietly in the background to keep the “trains” running on time. I remember another coming home at almost midnight after a long day working at a nursing home, barely saying hello to her son and his friends that were over as she put up her feet and turned the television on.

More recently, I see crockpots filled with food in my mother-in-law’s kitchen as her grandkids and other family arrive. Food that was weeks in the making. I see moms at my school’s sporting events knowing that the cheers from the sidelines sometimes mask tears at home. I see mom’s boarding trains and buses heading to New York or DC to march for their rights and their daughters.

And yet, I see only a tiny fraction of those minds, hands and hearts at work and the magic they create. So often without notice, praise, or appreciation.

When I was young, my brother and sister and I all called our mother, Ma. For the longest time, I had assumed that was a Boston thing. Apparently it is not.

Ma is thought to be the original name for the person who brings us into this world. The first expression of motherhood. Linguists suggest that this is a “universal infantile vocalization,” that stems from the noise babies make while breastfeeding or babbling.

We are wise to remember this elemental connection to our moms, who bring us into this world, nourish us, protect us, shape us, educate us, mentor us, accept us, show up for us and of course love us.

We move on from Ma, to Mama, to Momma Mommy, Mom, Mum, Mother and a host of other terms - not always voiced with the respect they deserve.

We ask and ask and ask. The “mama” request for milk evolves into a “Mom did you wash my uniform?” And of course, they give and give and give.

It is a worthwhile exercise to ask ourselves, where would we be without moms?

We would be nowhere because literally without them there is no us.

It is a fact worth remembering. Not just on the second Sunday of May - but everyday before and after.

Thanks Ma for everything.

This Week’s Recommendation: Musicians often put into words tributes to their moms that we only wish we could articulate with such poignancy. Consider finding a song that speaks to how you feel about your mom and send it to her One I shared recently with my own, was “Momma Song” by Benson Boone.

Consider sharing this with a mom in your life - perhaps your own or another who you admire.

“My sister is a libtard out West. I don’t even talk to her anymore. She lives in Oregon and I hope she stays out there.”

The hostility and apparent sense of self-satisfaction with his words was jarring. To so casually flatten a relationship and write off a sibling - someone who he presumably shared so much of his life with at some point was just so sad to me.

Divides come in many different forms; geographic to geological; man-made to natural; personal to the political. But what they all share is a common source. For something to be divided inherently means at one point it had to be united. Coming from the same land mass, country, community, relationship or family. This makes the division both painful and possible unification hopeful.

I’ve been listening to Noah Kahan’s new album a lot lately. It is aptly named, The Great Divide. Throughout the seventeen tracks, Kahan explores divides - presumably inspired by his own life, Someone wrestling with leaving his home town and coming back. Recognizing divides that have occurred for a myriad of reasons - time, distance, life events, class conflicts, politics, and trauma.

In many songs, there is a yearning to bridge these divides. In the last song, “Dan”, he longs to just have a Miller Lite with an old friend who he once had so much more in common with. In my favorite song, “Willing and Able”, he sings of a falling out with a sibling. The chord progression in the chorus builds movingly and achingly towards a desired reunion. The song ends by repeating “I’d be willing and able” eight times before wistfully saying, “If you’re willing, I’m able.”

I have long believed, perhaps naively so, that there is substantially more that unites us than divides us. So much division is born from the self-interests of others who pit people against each other for their own gain or a culture that leans too heavily into zero-sum thinking and resentment. If only we could pause and remind ourselves of our ties that bind - before they were torn asunder. To see each other with more grace and compassion. To judge less and seek understanding more. To forgive doesn’t require that we forget. But it does ask that we remember what brought us together in the first place.

If you’re willing and able, of course.

This Week’s Recommendation: Listen to Kahan’s The Great Divide. Find a song that speaks to a division you’re experiencing. Now consider sending that song as an olive branch to the person on the other side of that divide.

Share this email with a friend - or perhaps even better, an ex-friend

On Monday, we hosted our second annual Social Mobility Lab Summit at City College of New York. It is typical for events like these to bring in a keynote speaker whose expertise on the subject matter is nationally renowned. Marked by years of study and writing on the topic. We take a different approach and instead center student voices whose expertise in social mobility is drawn from their own remarkable lived experience. The words they share stem not from a New York Times best-seller but an essay they write in my class.

Please take a few minutes to watch this student share his story. I have little doubt you will be moved, inspired and impressed by the courage and wisdom this young man shares.

A few days after this event, I found myself in the audience watching a larger group of students perform a high school production of Grease. My oldest daughter played Sandy, one of the leads, and this would be her last high school theatrical performance. The show was fun, infectious and moving. Seeing your child put herself out there - at two different times performing solos in the most extreme sense as she was alone on the large stage singing songs that required great vulnerability - was such an amazing gift. At the same time it was incredibly bittersweet, realizing that this may be the last time I see her perform on a stage - an experience that has brought me such joy and pride over the years.

While the venues and the content of these two events were markedly different they shared a few common themes.

In both cases, the students - when finished - were lavished with praise while at the same time balancing the euphoria of a warm reception with the exhaustion that comes in the aftermath of putting yourself out there in such vulnerable ways.

Each situation also reflected the power of a transformative educational experience. In the first situation, a student was asked to share his story of “how he ended up here” - deeply internalizing classroom discussions about social mobility and what that has meant for his own life. In the latter, the cast and crew had six weeks to come together to stage a production, memorize lines, songs, dance moves, coordinate costume and set changes, arrange lighting and sound and a thousand other things necessary to stage a play. All this learning and hard work was done with such love and care.

Both situations are a testament to how important learning driven by intrinsic motivation is. Learning that is self-directed and personally meaningful. The process itself is the reward as it is marked by joy or self-discovery.

It is these types of experiences that students carry with them throughout their lives, far more than any grade or transcript.

It is perhaps most telling that after the last show of Grease as the cast and crew stood on stage, many if not most were in tears. Their tears were born from the realization that they were leaving something behind that they loved so much.

How wonderful it must have been to love something in school so much that you are moved to tears when it is over?

As an adult with my own schoolyard days in the distant past, last week filled me not with nostalgia but with hope. It is just absolutely beautiful and awe-inspiring to see what young people are capable of when motivated by their own desire to learn, putting themselves out there, and in doing so contributing to the joy and education of others.

This Week’s Recommendation. In the spirit of awe, please check out the latest episode of the podcast, The Science of Happiness. I was a guest on the show discussing an Awe Walk Through History and Possibility - a project we designed to take students on a tour through Harlem connecting historical stories of social mobility to their own lives.

Please share this with a student - of any age - in the hopes of sparking a conversation about the kind of learning they love.

This well-intentioned remark designed to encourage someone to try something that may seem daunting can actually have unintended consequences.

If someone struggles with a task we label as easy, it can actually be demotivating, demoralizing and damaging to one’s confidence. Making us question ourselves; “If it’s so easy and I can’t do it - what does that make me?”

I heard this fact at our Social Mobility Lab Summit this week, as the President of City College of New York, Vince Boudreau, used it as an example of “things we can do” to apply research in service of improving a person’s odds of success in life.

Rather than calling something easy (because it may be for us now), it would be more helpful if we instead shared more about our own learning journey. Perhaps saying, “I struggled with it at first but was able to figure it out.” Or reminding ourselves and others that our ease with something was the result of someone first helping us out and the fact that we have now been doing it for a while.

Learning almost anything in life requires effort, focus, repetition, patience, perspective, and encouragement. It also often includes failure and struggle. When we reduce our own learning story to, “I learned how to do that, it was easy,” we do a disservice to ourselves and others.

After all, no one nailed tying their shoes the first time around, let alone algebra.

This Week’s Recommendation: If you need another reminder about what you were like when you were young and learning, listen to Miley Cyrus’s song, Younger You. It is a simple song with a powerful message.

Consider sharing this with a friend who might be struggling with learning something.

On one level it might seem as if having fun at Disney didn’t require a pep talk. On the other, as evidenced by the number of meltdowns you see throughout the day, it is clearly not automatic.

What struck me about the Mom’s admonition was how consistent it was with most people who were not only visiting the park but working there. Everyone seemed to be doing their absolute best to create a good time for themselves and for others. Did they always succeed? Of course not. Hot days, long waits and tired children make for a nasty cocktail of emotions. Yet the effort was still there. It can be seen in the desire to remove as much friction as possible. To say yes, was the default response to any request.

In the wonderful world of Disney, perhaps the most wonderful thing of all is watching people just trying to be their best. People are just friendier and supportive of each other.

We suspend the overt commercialism and exorbitant costs, the stresses that await us when we get home, and just try to have fun. To be happy. To steal a few wonderful memories that could last a lifetime separated from the chaos that abounds all around us People in the words of one famous Disney princess are just trying to “let it go.”

Of course, we don’t need to escape to Disney to let go of more things. We don’t need rollercoasters to have fun. We can do our best to enjoy the rides of everyday life - if we let it.

This metaphor is reminiscent of the movie Parenthood, where a family is struggling to let go of the daily stressors and enjoy the good, bad and scary moments of their lives. In this moving scene, the grandmother reminds her adult grandson of this. Planting the seed for this climatic moment where we see amidst the chaos of a play gone wrong he stops worrying about his child and instead embraces the hilarity of the ride.

It was a fun experience, because he let it.

May you let yourself have more fun this week.

This Week’s Recommendation: Shortly after you read this, I’ll be hosting our second annual Social Mobility Lab Summit at City College of New York. It will be livestreamed if you want to pop in any time from 11:00AM-2:30, Monday April 13th.. If you register, you will get the livestream link and also a recording if you can’t make it during this window. Hope you can check some of it out.

Share this email with someone who could use a little fun this week.

Around the country, at different times, schools of all types have been experiencing spring breaks. Teaching at two different universities and having children in school means that my own schedule is impacted by three different school breaks that unfortunately don’t line up perfectly on the calendar.

As we approached spring break at City College, our class was having a discussion on the topic of growth. What it is for us personally and how we achieve it. It was interesting to note (and a sign of great self-awareness) that two of the first answers the students offered to how they grow were “to rest” and “letting go.” Both are benefits of a break. When we rest our minds and bodies recover, recalibrate and muscles grow. When we let go of things we opt not to carry around unnecessary weight or baggage that is keeping us down (or from growing). Both allow us to become more self-aware and deliberate with our actions.

The Saturday before this class discussion, I had decided to take a break of my own. I would not open my laptop or check my phone all day. It sounds like such a simple idea but in the context of a day where I had nothing particularly urgent planned, it eliminated a default behavior. Just think of all the instances throughout the day when you have a little downtime. Standing in a line, waiting for someone, sitting on the couch, etc. How often do you reflexively check your phone? Or open a laptop to do a little work, shopping or random exploring? If you’re curious, there is a function where you can see how many times a day you pick up your phone. Often people tell me it’s one or two hundred times a day. Even if it’s only 30-40 that’s three or four times every waking hour.

With this default off the table, I found myself more present and self aware. I noticed how the sun refracted off a lamp in my living room creating a dazzling light show on my floor. I was more attentive to the needs of my aging dog, probably setting a record for belly rubs in a day much to his enjoyment. I had a wonderful conversation with two of my daughters over dinner. I let my mind wander. When a question piqued my curiosity, I thought through the possible answers rather than turning to google for an instant answer. I moved throughout my day lighter, having let go of the weight of a phone - which while it only weighs 5-8 ounces, sometimes feels like it carries the weight of the world.

This break from my phone was wonderful and instructive. Undoubtedly, I grew from the experience. Appreciating both the ways it supported my lifestyle and detracted from it.

This week I’ve been watching the PBS documentary, Thoreau, who took one of the most famous breaks in all of history. Living for two years in a small cabin in the woods, he built with his own two hands, on the outskirts of town. He famously wrote that he “wished to live deliberately to front only the essential facts of life.” encouraging us all to “connect, connect, connect” and “simplify, simplify, simplify.” The amount of growth he experienced during these two years not only changed his own life but countless others who have benefited by his writing and his example - including my own.

Breaks let us see our lives and our worlds differently. We grow by doing less, by resting, letting go, connecting and simplifying our days. It is a gift we give ourselves and those around us.

Give yourself a break today and tomorrow and every day.

This Week’s Recommendation: Definitely check out Thoreau on PBS, rather than a strict biographical doc, it puts his life and writing in the context of our challenges and opportunities today.

Consider sharing this with someone who could use a break.

One daughter - with a minute left in her lacrosse game - came sprinting across the length and width of the field to stop an attacker from scoring. The determination and effort was particularly noteworthy given the score. Her team was losing by ten goals.

Another daughter - with just a few months left before graduation and her college admission secured - stayed up past 1:00AM that same night completing several assignments including a video project on the Spanish Flu’s impact on World War I. She resisted the temptation to use ChatGPT to complete any of the work as she suspected several classmates had done. Saying she wanted to complete high school the right way - with integrity.

My third daughter - rushing to get ready for school on the opening day of her school’s play - put her nerves aside when I knocked on the bathroom door before running off to catch my train. Saying, “Can you hold on until I get dressed, so I can give you a hug goodbye?”

Proud is from the Latin term “prodesse,” meaning “to be of value.”

The definition of “proud” has evolved somewhat to “feeling deep pleasure or satisfaction as a result of one’s own achievements, qualities, or possessions or those of someone with whom one is closely associated.”

Increasingly as a society we seem to place more value on pride associated with achievement or possessions, while the pride brimming from our qualities is relegated to the background.

Three small actions by my daughters displayed qualities of determination, integrity and kindness that trump whatever was on a scoreboard, a report card or a stage.

If it seems like I’m just bragging about my kids or virtue signaling, perhaps I am. But I’m also hoping to spark a conversation about where we place our pride and what stories we choose to share about it.

A society that places too much pride in the accomplishments and possessions in our children, ourselves and others perpetuates the pursuit of them - often to the detriment to the qualities that in our heart of hearts we value more.

It is perhaps how we end up with people who believe the ends justify the means or why we treat others as less than if their accomplishments or possessions are themselves less than others.

I, myself, have done all I suggest above. Actions that once bred pride, I now look back upon with some level of embarrassment given the focus of my pursuits. Many of which I did in an attempt to make my own mother proud.

As a parent myself, I can now see that she too was always less concerned with what I accomplished or my possessions gained and more about my qualities and how they manifest in the world around me.

To that end, I hope she still feels that same type of pride in me as I do in my daughters.

Recommendation of the Week: Check out the new movie, Project Hail Mary. Despite an existentially harrowing context, it shows what we are capable of when we mix humility, humanity, humor, sacrifice and some good science.

Share this with someone and tell them you’re proud of a specific quality of theirs that was on display this week.

Only a fraction of that is captured.

You live in countless data sets. Social Security, Internal Revenue Services, every place you went to school, each company you ever spent money with, your bank, credit card, every employer you ever worked for, every website you’ve ever visited, every internet carrier you’ve every used, every medical provider you’ve ever seen, everyone who had ever provided you with a service, and on and on.

An even smaller fraction of that data is analyzed.

It is used to provide you with information, offers, ads and the occasional insight. It is often used by others to guide their businesses or services and sold to others to do the same.

Sometimes this information is used for unethical if not illegal purposes. For example, the increased use of surveillance pricing where companies charge different prices on things like flights based on your purchase and browsing history. Charging more if they think you can afford more.

I have spent the last week with a group of people who use this data to improve people’s lives; to evaluate programs aimed to help people; to find gaps in services, to uncover insights that can lead to real change.

In one instance, they combined two data sets. One looking at people who were accessing homeless shelters and the other capturing those who were accessing educational and social services. They found that 40% of children in shelters were not getting services that would be beneficial to their health and growth. A social worker was placed in the homeless shelter and now those children are getting the health they need.

Then there is the question of how we use our own data to improve our own situation. What is our optimal amount of sleep? Resting blood pressure? Balance of time spent on various activities that provide our life with meaning? How much waste do we produce? How does our money compound? How often do we call friends or family who don’t live near us? Do we feel better when we listen to certain kinds of music? What makes for a happy day? Or a content one? What activities help us when we feel down?

Data provides insights and self awareness. Now I’m not suggesting that we begin tracking every action we take or spending our days combing through spreadsheets of our own making. But I am pointing out that it’s quite possible that strangers spend more time looking at our data in an effort to impact our behavior than we do ourselves.

What good could spending a little more time thinking about your data do for you, for others, for the world? My guess is quite a lot.

This Week’s Recommendation: Sentimental Value recently won the Oscar for best picture. It is an incredible film. Even if you don’t watch it, take two minutes to watch this clip. It is such a beautiful depiction of sibling love. I get teary no matter how many times I watch it.

Share with a friend - and perhaps count how many times you share content meant to inspire vs. content with the potential to trigger.

“I’m trying to kick my own butt.”

As amusing as her attempts were, she was unsuccessful.

And yet, I feel like I’m kicking my own ass on a regular basis.

The weekend prior I was staying up late watching the Adam Sandler movie Big Daddy. It is also a story about a father figure and a four year old child. I found myself really enjoying the movie - recalling a simpler time in my life when I watched it the first time - admiring the care-free attitude and lifestyle of Sandler’s character. His approach to parenting was refreshingly chill - albeit occasionally crossing the line to inappropriate.

At the same time, I also found myself criticizing my choice to stay up late and watch a movie I had seen several times before. Believing it would cause me to sleep in, “waste the next day away,” and prevent me from doing the many things I “needed” to get done.

Yet, weekends are designed for us to rest and recover from what is often a long and stressful work week, not to catch up on other work that we didn’t get done professionally or work around the house that is waiting for us.

In a productivity driven culture, we too often measure our days by how much we get done, instead of not measuring them at all.

The idea of being hard on ourselves for not measuring up on the weekends is real and a little ridiculous. It is often simply a continuation of how we feel throughout the week.

I called an old roommate to reminisce about our halcyon days, when we woke up on Saturdays without the aid of an alarm or a list awaiting us. The toughest decision we would make all day was deciding where we wanted to go grab breakfast (or lunch depending on when we got up). We came back, maybe watched some football on TV or went to a movie. Even taking an afternoon nap if we felt like it. We had no phones to check, no laptops to get a little extra work in, nowhere we needed to go. Maybe we would do a little laundry or light reading. We essentially did whatever we felt like in the moment.

Of course, with age and family comes greater responsibility. But this doesn’t mean we need to carry it around with us every waking moment. We can put it down. It will be waiting for us when it’s time to pick it up again and that’s ok.

I hope that little girl is never able to kick her own butt. Although, it would be awesome if she always finds the time to try something silly without a care the world

This Week’s Recommendation: In the spirit of St. Patrick’s Day and this post, listen to “Sweet Things” by Van Morrison from his classic album, Astral Weeks. The album itself is an attempt to navigate the transition from the simplicity of our youth and the complexities of adult life and this song is particularly on point.

Share this with someone who could use a nudge to stop kicking their own butt.

Last week, the U.S. fired its first torpedo since World War II, also sinking a vessel in the Indian Ocean. I’m assuming among the 83 dead, there were men who will never meet their grandchildren either.

There is an obvious cost of war. Not just in the soldiers who die but the ripple effect on their families.

Tragically, it is not only soldiers who die in war. A bomb struck a girl’s school last week, killing dozens of children. One can only imagine how many generations of a family or a country will grieve for the senseless loss AND hate those responsible for it.

On Wednesday, I sat on a bench in my town basking in the glow of a sun that has been missing too long. I noticed two boys across the street. They couldn’t be more than four or five years old. They were marching up the hill, chanting, “Hut, 1, 2, 3, 4. Hut, 1,2,3,4.” Suddenly they ran for cover, firing their imaginary machine guns, brought to life with their rhythmic screams of “rat-a-tat-tat.”

It was a scene reminiscent of my own childhood and I wondered when and why young boys of any generation learn to “play” war.

One might ask why in a column called, Moving Up Mondays, I would write about the tragedy of war. It’s simple. War steals opportunity. Lives are both directly and indirectly shaped by these conflicts in ways that can reverberate for generations.

Beyond the human cost of war, there is also the financial one.

Currently, the United States alone is spending one billion dollars a day in this war. That is four times as much as we spend on the arts in a year. The first week of the war will be the equivalent to what we spend annually to provide food and nutrition support to women and infants. If the war lasts a month, it could cost the equivalent of what we spend in a year on cancer research.

Apparently, it is easier to find money for bombs than it is for arts, food and cures.

Our connection to war, like those two little boys, can become fanciful. “Leaders” wield power indiscriminately and talk about “acceptable loss and casualties.” Jingoistically we talk of good winning over evil.

We move about our days, perhaps catching the news or tuning it out. Maybe we notice or complain when conflict drives up the cost of our gas, oil or other goods. We may disagree with our leaders but our opposition is limited to our expressions of frustration and muted resignation.

What more is there to do? I don’t know. But at the very least, we can acknowledge and respect the profundity of human loss.

Recommendation of the Week: Take a few minutes now to search for the names or images of the school children lost. In doing so, connect your humanity to theirs.

Occasionally, I’ll try to replicate that experience when a new album gets dropped on a streaming service but the feeling of reading lyrics on the screen is different then holding them in your hand. A more common experience is to stumble upon a song that the service has served me. If the melody lands, I’ll pick up my guitar, open an app with chord progressions and try to play along. Gradually moving from hapless to passable.

The power of a good lyric still moves me but is more unpredictable. In just the last week, three songs by three different artists gave me pause for different types of reflection.

The Irish trio, Amble’s, song Mary’s Pub, brought me back to love’s early days with lines like:

You smiled and braced my hand and pulled me into some old bar

And we drank a drop and we twirled and talked about our lives so far

Noah Kahan’s The Great Divide made me consider the anguish I may have missed in old friends:

You know I think about you all the time

And my deep misunderstanding of your life

And how bad it must have been for you back then

And how hard it was to keep it all inside

Cameron Whitcomb’s Call for You wistfully recalled the unconditional love of my mom:

The world is full of hands

That hold you when it’s worth it

But you gave me a chance

When they thought I was worthless

So when I fall like I do

I’ll call for you

There are over a hundred million songs on Spotify alone. It would take a thousand years to listen to them all. Yet these three different songs randomly hitting the same Spotify mix this week provided me with the gift of reflection and appreciation. Imagine how many other lyrics are out there that could do the same.

This Week’s Recommendation: If you have 49 minutes and 50 seconds. Check out Amble’s album, Reverie. It is the very definition of their name: “a walk at a slow, relaxed pace, especially for pleasure.”

Share this post (and perhaps a song) with a music lover in your life.

At one point after she won a journalist shouted to her, “I really enjoyed your free skate.” To which she responded grinning, “I really enjoyed my free skate too.”

It was a reminder of what is possible when we relieve ourselves of the pressures heaped on us by external forces AND those we thrust upon ourselves and simply let loose.

Her teammate, Amber Glenn, responded to a devastating mistake in the short program by scoring a season best skate in the long program. When asked afterwards what she attributed her turnaround to, she said simply that she was out there for her six-year old self, who just loved to skate.

Slalom skier Mikaela Shiffrin is widely considered the best of all time in her sport. Yet admitted that it was pressure that contributed to keeping her off the podium the last two Olympics. When she finally won her gold medal last week, she said she went out there and just skied. In a moving moment, as she crossed the finish line, you could see her mouth the word, “Dad.” Amidst all the cheers and fanfare, she just sat on her skis gliding slowly as she “took a few minutes to talk to her Dad,” who had tragically died in a tragic accident a few years earlier.

You don’t need to be an Olympic athlete to feel pressure. To feel the tightness that comes with it. To carry the weight of expectations we and others place upon us. To forget what and who brings us joy.

Yet these three incredible women showed us what can happen when we let loose and move freely - whether it be on the ice, down a sloop, or through life. Yes, the results can be what we hoped for but more importantly we simply enjoy what we’re doing so much more.

This Week’s Recommendation: Think of something that you really enjoyed as a little kid. Something that you just loved to do for the sake of it. Now, if possible, go spend a few minutes letting loose again.

Share this with someone who might benefit from loosening up a little.

A young woman told us about her college advisor in Connecticut who suggested she go home to Puerto Rico because he didn’t think she could cut it in college. Upon graduation, she moved to Charlotte. There she created a community around her love of Latin American cinema - moving from a blog to small screenings to a film festival. When ICE came, her community - while living in fear - still clamored for connection. So she held smaller screenings in apartment complexes and trailer parks.

These two stories were shared from the main stage at a conference where connection was everywhere to be found. It was a gathering of journalists, civic leaders, researchers, and funders. All seeking and granting connections between individuals, organizations and ideas. All looking to make their world a better place.

The connections were not limited to the stage. Mine occurred in coffee lines, in conference rooms, during a long walk and a dinner with over a hundred strangers seated along one long table.

Typically at a conference where I am unknown, my introverted side prevails. Often feeling like I don’t belong; insecure of my place there. Not this time. I was as outgoing as I’ve ever been in these situations. I’m not sure if it was because I was in search of community or that it was just so willingly offered. Regardless, I left inspired by new connections and potential ideas for myself and others.

We were reminded at one point that the polarization in our country is perhaps exaggerated. The word by definition references two opposite poles. But think of all that space in between. Space where people long for and seek connection. In our homes, in our communities and yes in our country.

Fortunately, one doesn’t need to travel to a conference to find connections. It is there waiting for you in that coffee line or in any room you find yourself in. It is there in the stories we hear and those we share. So please connect. Chances are you and that person next to you will both appreciate it.

This Week’s Recommendation: On the plane I watched Blue Moon about the Broadway lyricist Lorenz Hart, who wrote classics like Blue Moon and My Funny Valentine. Ethan Hawke’s performance of a man desperately seeking connection is a tour de force… and a reminder to be there for each other.

Consider sharing this with a new connection.

This experience is not reserved for singularly significant individuals. Having stood on the beaches of Normandy and above the deck of the USS Arizona in Pearl Harbor evokes a similar sense of awe; marveling at the collective sacrifice and senseless loss.

I am moved when I stand still in these footsteps of history. Realizing that each of the above would have been spared had they not stood up for something larger than themselves. Trying to imagine the extent to which the loss and grief felt by their families was mitigated by the importance of cause.

Each of the fallen noted above - including every soldier - was younger when they were killed than I am now.

As macabre as it may sound, I have on occasion found myself visiting a cemetery where no loved one or ancestor of mine rests. Standing above the likes of Emerson, Thoreau, Alcott, Kennedy, Gehrig and Carnegie while they lay below. On these sojourns I also take note of less familiar names. Untended tombstones marking years of beginnings and ends. The small dash in the middle serves as a cheap proxy for the fullness of their life.

I wonder how often someone stands in front of each grave and how this correlates to what the passed soul stood for during the length of their dash.

Standing in history, known and unknown, should give us pause. Offering a moment to reflect on what we really stand for. Asking ourselves, “Who will want to stand in the places where we once stood?” and “Will they feel any reverence or gratitude for the stands we made?”

This Week’s Recommendation: I am currently reading the latest book from one of my favorite authors, George Saunders. Vigil is a creative wonder. Imagining a person on their death who resists coming to terms with the consequences of his large life. Makes you wonder about what conversation will you have with yourself when your time comes.

Please share this to someone whose stands you appreciate.

I’m sure similar efforts took place across the country. In fact, in New York City, they have machines that can melt a half ton of snow in seconds!

It is a reminder of what is possible with good planning, cooperation, the right tools and extraordinary effort. Something we have seen time and time again - particularly in the face of emergency.

In dire times, it can be natural to feel hopeless. Yet the world is full of examples of progress that previously may have been unimaginable. Consider the many innovations that make everyday life easier - from the washing machine to the airplane to the internet. Or how the moral arc of the universe has bent towards justice over the last one hundred years - expanding rights and freedoms. Walk into any marvelous architectural structure and be amazed that at one point it was an idea in someone’s mind that draftsmen, engineers and workers brought into reality.

I read today that ChatGPT’s parent company OpenAI lost more than 10 billion dollars last year. Yes, that’s billions with a “b.” Yet, few discount the possibilities (good and bad) that AI will usher in. It is a reminder to invest in the possible and practice patience.

Moving from the possible to the probable to the actual can seem daunting to say the least. Where to begin?

Consider this. Approximately 70% of people born into the lowest income bracket in America will move up at least one rung on the economic ladder. Most more than one. They will go on to earn more than their parents.

Research also tells us that those who believe they will move up are more likely to do so.

Belief is the first step in the journey from possible to actual. Not just individually but collectively.

I imagine what it must have been like to be a DPW worker seeing their village blanked by walls of snow. Surely, they all believed that it was possible to clear it - and so they did.

Similarly, I imagine that Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and those he worked with believed - despite incredible resistance - we could advance civil rights. John Roebling must have believed it was possible to build a bridge from Brooklyn to Manhattan. As did the six hundred workers and engineers who worked fourteen years to make it happen.

All proof that it is possible to clean up messes - made by snow, ICE or other forces, advance and protect human rights, and build bridges across wide divides to connect millions of people.

What do you think is possible?

Recommendation of the Week: Check out this Spotify Playlist. I created it out of songs put forth by students in my Economics of Social Mobility class. They were asked to share a song that inspires their own journey. Perhaps it will inspire yours as well.

Share this weekly note with someone who needs a little dose of the possible today.

.