We Will Not Be Erased

When Bryce shared their vision statement about organizing a local march event to support the rights of LGBTQIA+ people, we were more than proud and supportive.

Hello! My name is Bryce Grossman, I’m a 14 year old living in Santa Cruz and I identify as nonbinary. I’m inviting you to participate in an event I’m hosting, “WE WILL NOT BE ERASED”. I’ve always had activist ideals and I finally felt compelled enough to make something happen. I’m quite tired of waking up everyday fearing for mine and other’s safety and wellbeing. I want this event to help people feel empowered to live their truth, to not hide themselves away. 

I hope this event will build a stronger community around a shared goal of respect for LGBTQIA+, and in solidarity of all marginalized groups.

Amen. "In solidarity of all marginalized groups".

My wife Amy and I have always wanted our children to understand the historical systemic problems that continue to negatively impact and diminish the lives of women, LGBTQIA+ people, people of color, people in poverty, immigrants, people with mental health problems, people with special needs and disabilities, and other marginalized groups. 

And not just to understand all this systemic discrimination and why we need equitable rights. To also think critically about what's really happening today and how to make the world a better place for all, instead of a dark dystopian place for all. A more empathetic and inclusive place for everyone. Including the very people and governments that perpetuate this systemic discrimination and division.

I guess that means we're "woke", something that too many around the world misunderstand and use against the very people who want to be better informed, educated, and conscious of social injustice and racial inequality. That's literally what woke means. But that's not necessarily appropriate for us, since it comes from the Black community and is in reference to the racism they've experienced and how they need to be aware of it all to survive.

Regardless, we want to be better informed, educated, and conscious of social injustice and racial inequality. Today when I hear things like "the woke radical left ideology endangers our children", it makes me angry and frustrated. Because it's these very anti-woke policies that minimize the marginalized, sustain systemic discrimination, and only make the world safer and fair for the conservative-right in power.

If you know anything about history, you know where this all could go because of where it has gone before:

• Tulsa Race Massacre (1921)
• Apartheid in South Africa (1948–1994)
• Japanese American Internment (1942–1945)
• The Pulse Nightclub Shooting (2016)
• Stonewall Riots (1969)
• Chechnya Anti-Gay Purge (2017–present)
• Holocaust (1941–1945)
• Cambodian Genocide (1975–1979)
• Rwandan Genocide (1994)

Just do an online search for any of these to learn more. One horrific act of violence after another. The slippery slope to all this continues to be greased in America today, with shifting societal scapegoat norms, and co-opted racism, sexism, misogyny, and more at the highest levels of government, all leading to discriminatory government policies against specific groups. Deporting immigrants. Dismantling DEI. Deleting LGBTQIA+ and women's rights. And the list goes on and on in today's America (and around the world).

Which is again why when Bryce told us they wanted to organize a student march for the rights of LGBTQIA+ people in partnership with The Diversity Center, we were more than enthusiastic. They have been paying attention to what's happening around them and do not want to be erased. 

As the adults and parents in the room, we've been involved in protests and marches when it comes to protecting the civil rights of others, contacted our elected officials, written articles, have fought the good fight on the ground where we live, and have encouraged the activism of our children. But I've felt exhausted and hopeless the past few months, not sure what to do, if anything. 

Bryce decided to step up and speak out. They are braver than me and have given us hope that we can and should continue to speak out and protest where this country is headed. 

Supporting the rights of one group never has to come at the expense of others, not when it supports all our rights as humans and citizens. And yet, that's exactly what America is doing. 

We will not be erased, Bryce. We will do everything we can to ensure that. 

A Longing for Loving Connection

We were on our way back hiking down the mountain when I shared something with my friends that I hadn't ever shared with them before. The fact that I was molested as a child by my first stepfather. 

They were quiet for a moment, then apologetic and comforting. Even though I had written about it here in this space, it wasn't something I had ever told them directly. I had told Robby a long time ago, my best friend who passed away recently, but I guess it was easier to write about it over the years, and discuss during therapy, than talk about it with my friends. 

We've told each other a lot of things over the years, just not this, but I trusted my friends and felt it was time to be vulnerable and share this traumatic life experience with them. We continued to walk down the hill in silence after I shared this experience, and then one of them said:

"So, I guess you really can point to the place on the doll where he touched you."

Awkward laughter. Relief. Release. And yet another inappropriate exchange between dear friends of 45+ years. But we do care for each other and share a close brotherly love, through all the years of relentless teasing and non-family friendly humor. We shared a lot over the years, warts and all (but not genital warts -- that's a joke, kids). 

This hike we took was part of a recent weekend spent grieving and celebrating our friendships and relationships with each other and our dear friend, Robby. We started planning a memorial for him and put a long playlist together in his honor (which we're targeting for May 31 in Visalia, CA). Music has always been a big part of our lives and each of his adding songs that impacted our lives and his was a lot of fun and cathartic. Thank goodness we've invested in these connective-tissue times together over the years that has deepened our bonds. 

Because unfortunately, too many of us are lonely and depressed these days. According to the Centers for Disease Control (CDC), about 1 in 3 adults in the U.S. report feeling lonely. And about 1 in 4 U.S. adults report not having social and emotional support. 

According to another article specifically on male loneliness: 

Research conducted in 2021 by the American Survey Center reported that 15% of men claim they have no close friends, a 12% increase since 1990. Additionally, Equimundo published a study in 2023 that found a majority of men from Millennials to Gen Z agree with the statement, “No one really knows me well.” In the same publication, a majority of the men said they only have one or two close friends they feel comfortable confiding in outside their family.

And the research goes on and on and it impacts all generations and backgrounds. Unfortunately, too many men turn to toxic masculinity, deriding women and other marginalized groups as a way to deflect from the turmoil and loneliness inside that desperately longs empathic love and support. As I wrote in one of my recent articles, I grew up with an abusive birth father and stepfather and swore that I would never be that way. 

I've struggled with my own loneliness and depression over the years, unable to express how I feel and ask for what I need, but eventually I become an empathic advocate and an ally for men and women alike. My wife has been my greatest advocate and whose friendship I'm deeply grateful for. She's helped me normalize love and empathy in my life, and in turn, I've done the same with our children and my friends. 

But it's these recent times I've spent with my friends, including before Robby passed, that reminded me of how grateful I've been to have these and many other positive male friendships. Even when we don't talk see each other very often, we check in with texts and occasional calls. Each of us talked with Robby at least once a week in recent years.

I hope our children find these types of positive and supportive friendships that are meaningful and nonjudgmental, that make space for vulnerability and understanding, especially when loneliness and depression blinds the heart's optimism and a longing for loving connection. 

Other past posts about and related to these friends of mine:

• Superman's Love Letter
• Men of An Influencer Age
• Making a Dent
• Men of a Stand-up Age
• Men of a Vulnerable Age
• Endless Possibilities Actually
• Able-Bodied Grateful
• Men of Our Present Age
• The #MeToo Guys
• Men of a Women's Age
• Men of a Consequential Age
• Grown Men Friends and Fathers
• Like Men Knowingly Bound to Their Future
• Because That's How It Works With The Guys That Work
• Big Heart Love to My Class of 1984
• Men of An Unremarkable Age
• Being What Happens Next
• Daddy Day in Monterey

The Meddling Mentors

It's an awe-inspiring thing, watching your children grow up. And not just for the bigger milestones of age and physical growth and going from elementary school to middle school to high school. It's also for the subtle, incremental maturity moments of their emotional and psychological growth. 

Being a teenager in any generation isn't easy. It's full of hormonal changes, front cortex development, indecision, anxiety, anger, depression, streaming opinions, self-awareness, emotional swings and sass, introversion and extroversion, and yes, radiating moments of pure joy. Like the Inside Out movies on steroids. 

All these changes and experiences are coming at them constantly and they're woven together like a patchwork quilt they wrap around themselves and wear with pride. With disdain. With uncertainty. 

Our youngest Bryce wore their quilt with disdain. They had felt disconnected from people, including us, and extremely introverted and anxious. But we never stopped caring for Bryce, loving them, ensuring we invested in whatever support they needed, encouraging them to develop their passion through music -- singing in the school choir and learning to play guitar.

Bryce never wanted to sing a solo. Like ever. Their choir teacher encouraged them the past two years, but it was always a no-go. Bryce never wanted to even sing in front of us or play their guitar for us (except for when one of us takes them to their guitar lessons).

But then something changed. Bryce's patchwork quilt brightened in the sunlight over the past year with their belief that they could do it (and more). And not just their belief either -- the actual doing of the things with a celebratory heart. Every year Bryce's choir runs a talent show where the kids are encouraged to sing their favorite songs with solos, duets, quartets, or other combos.

Bryce just didn't take on one solo -- they took on four solos total -- radiating with moments of pure joy. 

Our oldest Beatrice had also worn her quilt with cocooned anxiety. Always second-guessing her decisions and her learning ability, she's struggled with feeling confident in her activities and experiences, especially about her classes. It always taken her a little longer than her peers to process what she's learning.

But she's learned to adapt and how to approach learning that works for her and has thrived in school. It's not without a lot of ongoing work, and we've never stopped helping her whenever we can, getting the support she needs when she's needed it. 

Now, she's taking honors classes and will take some AP classes, planning for college and career, stretching herself constantly to learn, adapt, and thrive. She's in theater -- acting, singing, and dancing. She's joining choir next year (and her sister will be in high school choir, too). 

Those incremental, maturity moments of our teens emotional and psychological growth aren't without setbacks and a need to reset; that's just how it works growing up (and growing old). But the key for any of us is how we respond to these setbacks, and what then we do in the shadows of uncertainty and despair. For us as parents to watch them both learn, adapt, and thrive more and more on their own has again been awe-inspiring.

In fact, for me, they've become the meddling mentors, hungry to understand what's made us tick since we were their age, what makes us tick today, and what makes them tick today (and what's coming tomorrow). They're not afraid of asking the hard questions, not afraid of pressing for answers, not afraid of who they are and who they're becoming, while constantly reminding us of why we became parents in the first place. Of why we are who we are today. Of why we want a better world for them and all of us, and the fact they want the same.

Normalize Love and Empathy

I've always been a hopeful and empathic male. Read any of my posts since 2007 and that's clear. I grew up mostly as a lower middle-class white male, yes, and still very privileged in an inequitable world, but I never had any issues with supporting gender or racial equality and equity.

As I reflect now on where the world is today, half the world does have a problem with equality and equity. But half the world also conflates equality with equity repeatedly, something those who decry DEI do regularly (which I don't), misrepresenting much of what the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and related programs intended for inclusivity, equity, and fairness. Even the Equal Rights Amendment (ERA), first proposed in 1923, has never been fully ratified as the 28th amendment to the U.S. Constitution. 

Equality means treating everyone the same by giving them the same resources or opportunities, regardless of individual differences or disadvantages.

Equity means providing resources or opportunities based on individual needs to ensure fair outcomes. It recognizes that people start from different positions and may require different levels of support.

Although both are important, it's the later example that is the most meaningful to me, as well as the most accurate of what underrepresented and underserved segments of the population experience day to day -- starting from different positions and requiring different levels of support -- i.e., women, people of color, the LGBTQ+ community, immigrants, etc.

But discussing equity is more polarizing than ever because too many people don't take the time to understand what it really means. Too many people also get their news and information from fragmented sources that sustain their biases and continue to negatively impact their perceptions of the world around them. 

I didn't grow up with that kind of fragmented news and information (social media, podcasts, etc.), but Gen Z more than any other generation to date has. That includes our two teens, which is why we discuss these issues openly as a family, leaving space for questions and disagreements. 

Siloed information and an erosion of shared experiences have both impacted the younger generation, especially men, to become resentful of both gender equality and equity. Hyper-masculine anti-woke content and podcasts abound, contributing to bullying and the discounting of women, people of color, and the LGBTQ+ community.

According to Jackson Katz, researcher and activist about issues of gender, race, and violence: "We’re witnessing a global backlash against women’s progress, since the past 50 years have seen unbelievable challenges to patriarchal norms. Trumpism and rightwing populism isn’t a revolt against the ‘elites’; it’s a reaction to men being de-centered and a backlash against feminism."

Sadly, we're seeing many wealthy male elites and leaders of today fueling this backlash in the guise of meritocracy and return-to-office mandates. I don't understand and can't relate to them or the younger (and older) generation of men who feel they've been displaced by women and feminism. By Black and Brown people. By LGBTQ+ people. By misunderstanding and misrepresenting diversity, equity, and inclusion. 

I grew up with an abusive birth father and stepfather, and swore that I would never be that way. I have struggled with my own faults and prejudices over the years, but I knew I'd always be an advocate and an ally, and my wife the same.

We must once and for all change this systemic and abusive patriarchal leadership, for us, our children, and the world, or we will all suffer a degrading, dangerous fate of being bullied, beaten, and erased. I did not choose to grow up in a patriarchal society then, and neither did our children today, so our entire family will do everything we can to loudly oppose this growing surge of toxic masculinity and normalize love and empathy. 

What Happens Next

"...You may be right

It's all a waste of time

I guess that's just a chance I'm prepared to take

A danger I'm prepared to face

Cut to the chase

What kind of difference can one person make?

Cut to the chase..."

–Rush, Cut to the Chase 

I needed a distraction. Something fun with the family that could shield me temporarily from work stress, from America slipping away, from grieving my best friend's passing, and from existential exhaustion. Feeling helpless and overwhelmed by it all, I just needed a break from how my brain has been reacting of late. 

The Santa Cruz Clam Chowder Cook-Off was upon us and never disappoints. It's a weekend full of yummy local chowders cooked up by both amateurs and professionals and held at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. And this year our oldest Beatrice worked the event, selling tasting kits and merchandise. 

Beatrice finished her shift and joined my wife Amy, her sibling Bryce, and me to start tasting the chowders. It's always a busy event, rain or shine, and this year the weather was fabulous. Within the first hour of tasting there was wall-to-wall people walking around, waiting in chowder tasting lines, or waiting to ride the amusement park rides. But mercy me the chowder is always a treat with dozens of chowder booths to choose from. After a few samples I'm always full. 

It was fun, and momentarily distracting, but my life nagged at me like a child pulling on my shirt on the verge of a tantrum. I looked up to watch the 100-year-old Giant Dipper roller coaster train race down the first precipitous drop. That's the trope, I thought. That the world is just a big, scary roller coaster without safety bars or straps, and we've got to hold on with all our might for fear of flying out and plunging to our deaths. 

Yikes, Kevin. What the hell?

There were so many people at the Boardwalk, that it was a little overwhelming at times, but we were still so glad that we went. Families and friends alike who all just wanted a break from whatever daily stress they face to have a little fun, ride some rides, play some arcade games, and eat some chowder (and a variety of amusement park junk food). 

But after the chowder cook-off, I was still full of existential exhaustion. Since my dear friend Robby passed, I've struggled more than I thought I would with his death, my own mortality, and what I've done with my life. Over the years, he'd always say to me, "You know, sometimes I wish this would all end, but then I think, I still really want to see what happens next. You know what I mean?"

I know, Robby. I do. And even at our lowest points, we still wanted to see what happened next. The difference you made in my life, and so many others, was indelible. 

Because of that, I just can't feel this way today. I'm still here and I can't feel like I don't and won't make a difference. You would tell me I have much work to do, just as my inspirational wife and children do. They are working hard to make a difference in the world around them. They proudly speak actionable truths that took decades for me to articulate and live. They not only want to see what happens next; they want to be the positive change of what happens next. 

And dammit, so do I. 

Superman's Love Letter

The last time I talked with Robby, he sounded good, but he had never been frailer. We talked about the visit we had just had together a week earlier with the five of us -- Robby, Greg, Craig, Rob, and me -- friends of over 45 years. He told me he was grateful for our visit and our friendship. 

He also wanted to again explain why he dug into Greg about our transgressions of the past. The times decades earlier when we'd come visit him and selfishly party it up like we were fraternity brothers on spring break, which we were all complicit in doing, including him. 

He was always the past re-hasher of things and that was okay. It was always his way of working through the continuous trauma of being paralyzed since his swimming accident in 1984. Going to visit him was our annual pilgrimage of doing the same.

During that last conversation, he asked me, "Did you watch the video I made yet?"

I hadn't. "No, not yet. I've been off Facebook for over a month now."

"Oh, I get it, but you should login and watch it," he said.

"I will."

But I didn't. I did remember the last night we were at his house, though. I had already been asleep for a couple of hours, but then I woke up hearing Robby and Greg talking in living room. I went to see what they were doing. Robby sat on the couch with sunglasses on and the big glowing grin he was known for, and Greg sat across from him in a chair. 

"What are you guys doing?" I asked.

"I'm filming Robby," Greg said.

"Yeah man, you're going to want to check it out. It's been about a year and half since the last time I did this," Robby said. 

"Night," I said, and returned to the bedroom and my air mattress. I smiled at them, but I was tired and had to head out early the next morning. 

After we talked that last time on the phone, I still hadn't watched the video. Three days later I got a call from Robby's sister, Diana. Usually, she texts us if something's up with Robby's health, but a phone call meant something entirely different. I knew even before she said the words -- Robby was gone. 

He'd been quite fragile the past few years, his long-term paralysis taking its toll on his body. He'd been in and out of the hospital with brittle broken bones and various infections. He also struggled with chronic neurological pain. His traveling anywhere beyond the city of Chico where he lived had been over for many years. When we last visited him, he had turned 59. 

After our last visit two weeks ago, I wrote (again) about how Robby, broke his neck our senior year in high school. It was spring break, April 18, 1984, and he was a swimmer at a local swim meet. During one of the races, he false started three times in a row, which disqualified him from that race. On the third false start, instead following through on the dive, he went straight down on the back of his neck. 

Some of our other friends, including me, were at the coast for the day (which for us was a 2.5-hour drive). We tried to get him to skip the swim meet, but he really wanted to compete. There were no cell phones back then, so we didn't know what happened until my friend Charles dropped me off in front of my house where dozens of high school friends stood, many crying. After we learned what had happened, we fled to the hospital. 

He relived his accident every day since it happened. We relived it every time we were there with him or when we talked with him on the phone. His accident was a shared trauma for all of us, his friends. It was a shared trauma for our entire high school and our community. 

We were friends before Robby's accident, but our friendships were bound together forever because of it, and our pilgrimages to see him over the decades have been our collective catharsis of healing. He would've given anything to walk again. We would've given anything. Decades of love, laughter (lots of it), and tears were what willed our healing into being.

After I got off the phone with his sister and learned of his passing, I finally watched the video he'd made the last time we were all together, less than two weeks before. I cried. I watched it multiple times and cried again. It was a love letter to our friendships. He was grateful that we remained friends after all these years and that we kept coming to see him. It was classic Robby -- extroverted warmth, humor, sincerity, and of course, soundtracked to music. His sister was right: "He lived the biggest life anyone in his situation could have. Robby had a golden glow that I’m sure still radiates from him wherever he is."

Halloween of our senior year, six months before his accident, Robby dressed up as Superman. It was iconic because he was iconic. After his accident, he was trapped in 1984 forever while he lived the biggest life he could in the decades that followed. He'll always be Superman to us, and the last video he made for us was Superman's love letter to friendship.

Our hearts ache, but we see you standing there now, my friend and brother, and we love you.

Other past posts about and related to these friends of mine:

• Men of An Influencer Age
• Making a Dent
• Men of a Stand-up Age
• Men of a Vulnerable Age
• Endless Possibilities Actually
• Able-Bodied Grateful
• Men of Our Present Age
• The #MeToo Guys
• Men of a Women's Age
• Men of a Consequential Age
• Grown Men Friends and Fathers
• Like Men Knowingly Bound to Their Future
• Because That's How It Works With The Guys That Work
• Big Heart Love to My Class of 1984
• Men of An Unremarkable Age
• Being What Happens Next
• Daddy Day in Monterey

Hope Is Always "Here"

We watched it together as a family. That wasn't unusual, as we do watch various shows together, but there's not too many movies that we all agree on.

And this one wasn't necessarily agreed upon at first; our youngest Bryce usually doesn't like the movies that Mom and Dad pick out. Our oldest Beatrice doesn't feel the same way, but it's still harder to align likability for all of us. 

Everyone seemed interested in this one, though. The movie was Here starring Tom Hanks and Robin Wright and the reviews were not very good. There was still something intriguing about it with the primary movie scene set in the same place over time: a living room with a big window to the world beyond. There was also something Wes Anderson-esque about that, which is why Bryce and me really liked the way it was filmed. It was also based on a graphic novel by Richard McGuire, something both our artist teens like, especially Beatrice. 

The story itself focused more on one family over time, but the movie didn't always work. What did work was the theme and it resonated with all of us. The theme for us, of loving where you live and who you live it with -- "here". Bryce and I cried; we are the family criers, that's for sure. Amy (Mom) and Beatrice are feelers, just not criers. 

While we watched together, Beatrice laid on Amy and Bryce laid on me. This "here" for me has always been special. We've lived here for nearly 19 years and are grateful for every moment that we've had in this house. We lived here before we decided to have children. Bryce was born in this house. Beatrice was supposed to be. Our kids have grown up in this house (and continue to). They shared a room until middle school, and after some renovating, now each has their own. 

We've lived in every inch of this house. We've loved, laughed, cried, screamed, brooded, and laughed and loved some more. There's no other place we'd rather be than here while the world keeps spinning outside our front window. That spinning "here" includes the community we live in, the state we live in, the country we live in, the world we live in. We're Americans who love our "here".

But our "here" is in danger; we've never lived in fear until now. American democracy has certainly had its challenges and setbacks, but today it's being transformed from the inside-out by a fast-moving coup that's doing everything it can to take away our civil rights, our education, our livelihoods, and our safety, all for the sake of oppressive power and control. Even those who supported it all and who think these changes will benefit them will lose it all in the end, too. 

That's the point -- that we all lose in the end except for a wealthy few. And in the meantime, these dismantling actions are supposed to make your head spin. To make you scared. To paralyze you. To make you give up. But we stand tall where you are and stay vigilant. Fight the good fights about human rights when and where you can. Speak up, speak out, and speak truth for a better bigger picture. 

Today, our morning meditation mantra was this: Hope is my source of strength. It provides the endurance needed for positive and sustained change. As I look around our house and out our window, I know that hope is always "here", and our family is all in. 

Men of An Influencer Age

"We control nothing but we influence everything."

That's a line I heard from a recent Hidden Brain podcast titled Wellness 2.0: The Art of the Unknown and featuring political scientist Brian Klaas. The line above came from social scientist Scott Page, who underscored the theme of the episode: How we respond to the random events that shape our lives, and how we can turn them to our advantage.

And I listened to this podcast on the way home from seeing my dear friends of over 40 years. It got me thinking about all the things that have transpired in our lives over those 4+ decades and why we've remained friends. It also got me wondering about the line above -- "We control nothing but we influence everything." 

My best friend of over 46 years, Robby, broke his neck our senior year in high school. It was spring break, he was a swimmer at a swim meet, and some of the other friends, including me, were at the coast for the day (which for us was a 2.5-hour drive). 

If we had only convinced him to skip his meet and come with us.

If he had only followed through on his dive even though he would've been disqualified from that race.

If only...

"We control nothing but we influence everything."

Now, that doesn't mean the outcome would've been any different, because it wasn't, and neither of those things happened. It could've happened at any one of his swim meets. But it didn't. It happened that fateful day, April 18, 1984. He relives that moment in time every time we get together; he relives that moment every single day. We relive it every time we're there with him and talking with him on the phone. 

What would've happened if he hadn't broken his neck? His able-bodied physical memory is trapped in that fateful day in April 1984. Like The Police song I heard on the way to his house, King of Pain, "There's a fossil that's trapped in a high cliff wall (that's my soul up there)..."

That's his soul up there. I believe that every cathartic conversation we have with him frees him a little from the high cliff wall. But only a little. A little at a time for over 40 years. And that's the thing about geological time: it's like it's forever compared to our brief existence. No matter how much we chip away with our laughter (and our tears). 

Thankfully there's been lots more laughter. Over 40 years of highly (sometimes inappropriate) comedic memories that bring deep-seated guttural laughter and happy tears to our eyes (and that aren't ready for primetime; we're our own late-night SNL production). Our teen kids have gotten in on the act asking me, "How are your boyfriends?"

"My boyfriends are great," I say, even though all us boyfriends have had those "what if" moments throughout our lives, and collectively our learned experience of what we actually controlled versus what we have actually influenced leaves us to the same conclusion year after year: that we are stalwart friends. 

So, when we were out for dinner during our latest visit with Robby, the server asked us, "What's the occasion?"

"Friendship," I said emphatically. 

The guys teased me for that, but they knew I was right. We are men of an influencer age, and that includes the sustained influence of our mutual love and respect for one another. Blessings to my boyfriends.

Other past posts about and related to these friends of mine:

• Making a Dent
• Men of a Stand-up Age
• Men of a Vulnerable Age
• Endless Possibilities Actually
• Able-Bodied Grateful
• Men of Our Present Age
• The #MeToo Guys
• Men of a Women's Age
• Men of a Consequential Age
• Grown Men Friends and Fathers
• Like Men Knowingly Bound to Their Future
• Because That's How It Works With The Guys That Work
• Big Heart Love to My Class of 1984
• Men of An Unremarkable Age
• Being What Happens Next
• Daddy Day in Monterey

My Algorithmic Stranglehold

Social media was fun at first. For me, way back in 2007 and 2008, I jumped into Facebook and Twitter, reconnecting with old friends on Facebook and making new friends on Twitter. Prior to that, I had joined LinkedIn in 2005. I wasn't a super early adopter, but it was early on.

Later would come Instagram where I loved to share photos I took. And it was fun. Mostly. Communication, connection, sharing, and of course sharing my parenting and personal leadership writing on the sites as well as my pictures. I've had an interesting run of writing online, too, almost quitting it all back in 2021. 

However, since the 2016 election, social media took a dark turn, and it's never turned around. And along the way too many folks got addicted to the clicks. The likes. The attention. And the algorithms' stranglehold continued to strengthen, shaping what we see and hear (and what we want to see and hear). That in turn amplifies the nastiness of human bias and the trolls that say and do horrible denigrating things online. 

More clicks. More likes. More attention. More rage. More hate. More misinformation. More bullying. More trolling. More of a crappy self-defeating mix.

And you may have heard about that Wall Street Journal investigation a few years ago referring to internal Facebook research about how Instagram causes increased levels of anxiety and depression and suicidal thoughts in teenage girls. 

Thankfully that hasn't impacted our kids (can't say 100%, but they've been okay), and we've never denied our daughters using social media. We've always monitored and asked about what they're watching and searching for and seeing and posting (YouTube is their preferred social). Now that they're teens, we also entrust them to use their own discretion and to stay away from inappropriate and dangerous content. In fact, we recently had the social media conversation when the Tik Tok ban was enforced and it was no longer available to download. Our kids didn't really use Tik Tok and were more depressed because another app, a video editing app called CapCut, was no longer available, also from the same parent company ByteDance. 

The good news is that we haven't see increased levels of anxiety or depression from our teen's social media use. The bad news is that I've seen my anxiety spike. Primarily due to the current state of the world and America, plus my addiction of clicks, likes, and attention. That social AI smack ain't playing, that's for sure. I've always struggled with wanting to be liked and social media hasn't helped.

Our kids are always telling us we spend too much time on our phones, that I spend too much time on my phone. I don't think I do, but I've definitely got my wife Amy beat there. Teens average 5+ hours a day online, and my average is 1.5 hours, so there, and even less soon. Our kids are lower than the teen average, too. 

During dinner recently, a time reserved for sharing our days and what we're all grateful for, they both scolded me for having my phone out. I wasn't looking at it, but it was out on the table because I had been looking at the news right before we started to eat (another algorithmic addiction). I literally had to turn it over and then remove it from the table. Both kids do a good job of keeping their phones away at dinner, so they've become the better role models for me. I should probably have a phone pocket at home to put mine in like the kids have at school. 

I'm taking a social break to weaken my algorithmic stranglehold. Kind of. There's still "work" social sharing I will do on LinkedIn, and there's the new BlueSky social network I've joined for those who need a mainstream social break and political refuge. Plus, there's my news and music algorithms to manage and balance (including my drumming channel). 

Ugh. I guess it's not a complete break; social addiction is real and so are the negative impacts. But, the break that I am taking and the positive time I'm getting back is time to reinvest in my family, my friends, my writing, my drumming, and more. Those are the "likes" to be liked every day. 

A Better Bigger Picture

The morning we were to fly home from our holiday vacation, my wife Amy and I went for one last walk in Athens. She suggested that we head up a walkway that we hadn't taken prior. It was the Hill of the Muses, Filopappou Hill, and the wide walkway was made up of stones, clay tiles, and intermittent rectangular stretches of concrete shapes in between. We weren't sure if it was structured this way by necessity or aesthetics, but the rocks were damp from early morning dew and slick to walk on, so we had to walk along the sides and on the concrete strips. 

The walkway wound upward around Filopappou Hill and then it dead-ended. We went beyond the walkway along a dirt trail through some pines and brush until we hit another smaller stone trail that continued upward to another old monument. We didn't have a lot of time to head to that monument, so we continued to where the hill sloped down again, and mercy me, there it was: an amazing few of the Acropolis. What remained and what continues to be excavated and restored was over 2,500 years old. We had already done the Acropolis tour with our family, but this was altogether breathtaking.

We gazed at what's considered the birthplace of modern democracy. Later I would read about how the Greek philosopher Aristotle analyzed the different systems of governance that the Greek city-states had and divided them into three categories based on how many ruled: the many (democracy/polity), the few (oligarchy/aristocracy), a single person (tyranny, or today: autocracy/monarchy). 

Aristotle wrote: 

Now a fundamental principle of the democratic form of constitution is liberty—that is what is usually asserted, implying that only under this constitution do men participate in liberty, for they assert this as the aim of every democracy. But one factor of liberty is to govern and be governed in turn; for the popular principle of justice is to have equality according to number, not worth, and if this is the principle of justice prevailing, the multitude must of necessity be sovereign and the decision of the majority must be final and must constitute justice, for they say that each of the citizens ought to have an equal share...

Sounds familiar for those of us who know anything of U.S. history. The Preamble to the Declaration of Independence states:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

A lot more came from Athenian philosophers and democratic politics that impacted our own U.S. Constitution (and many other democracies around the world). But as I stood there with my wife and took in the physical history of the Acropolis from afar, my thoughts turned bittersweet. What will the world look like for our children when they're adults? And will they be able to keep democracy alive?

Representative democracies are hard to maintain and the conflicting wills of everyday people and the powerfully rich can change the political landscape from democracy to oligarchy and autocracy in seemingly a blink of an eye. And history has blinked again and again for thousands of years. 

So, if you feel like you're treading water to take care of yourself and your family, and the big picture around you today is blinking yet again, get involved locally. Yes, I'm serious. Get involved locally. Volunteer for your kids' school. Better yet, run for your local school board (I did), a cornerstone of democracy. Volunteer for a city commission. Volunteer at a homeless shelter. Become an immigrant and an LGBTQ+ advocate. Volunteer at a senior center. Help out and advocate for those displaced by fires and other natural disasters. The list is endless, and the impacts endless as well. Little differences always make for a better bigger picture. 

And for God's sake, hold your elected officials accountable and keep voting. Blessings to you all. 

More Heaven Than Hell

It feels like everyone and everything has gone darker than ever. Meaning, things that are dark and evil have more gravitas than things that are light and good. Yes, there are many dark things happening in the world today, that I will not argue, but I do wonder if we aren't manifesting some of that directly ourselves. (A remake of an old horror story, Nosferatu, about an obsessive vampire opened on Christmas Day 2024, for God's sake.)

Whatever the case, the darkness sells, and has throughout the history of humanity (we are a violent lot). An older example is one of my favorite books I read in college -- The Divine Comedy by the Italian writer Dante Alighieri. Actually a narrative poem finished around 1321, it's divided into three parts: Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradiso. 

Ultimately, the poem is about the soul's journey toward God and is heavily grounded in medieval Catholic theology and philosophy. Dante makes the journey through hell, purgatory, and then paradise (heaven). But the Inferno (hell) has been referenced much more over the 700+ years since than the other two poems about purgatory or paradise. In fact, I've made the mistake multiple times of referencing Dante's Inferno as the entire work, when it's made up of the three parts above. 

The Roman poet Virgil guides Dante through Hell and Purgatory. But it's Beatrice, Dante's ideal woman, who guides him through Heaven. Beatrice was a Florentine woman he admired after meeting her in childhood. She was his muse, and it's that part of the story that I aggregate to, because my wife Amy became my muse from the moment we met. She's been guiding me toward heaven ever since.

I know, kinda sappy, and while the world today prefers more hell than heaven, we don't want to live that way. I've had plenty of hell in my lifetime to know I want muses who aim for paradise, not those who wallow in darkness. This is why when we decided to have children, that if she was a girl, her name would be Beatrice. And she was and that became her namesake; our guide through parenthood and beyond. 

We always wanted the opportunity to take both our kids to visit their namesakes, but to date, have only done that for Bryce, our second child. Back in May 2007 we had taken a Southwest road trip that became the tipping point to changing our minds about having children, especially after visiting Bryce Canyon. We went again in 2021 and that's when Bryce met their origin story.

When we planned for our current winter break trip to Rome and Athens, we knew we'd have to go to Florence, the birthplace of Dante Alighieri and where Dante first met his muse, Beatrice. And that's exactly what we did. That's when Beatrice met her origin story. 

Bryce claims that the dirty old Bryce Canyon in Utah isn't as glamorous as Florence in Italy, but we reminded both kids that there would be no origin stories without that Southwest road trip back in 2007 (Beatrice arrived in September 2008).

That's why we're super grateful. Not only to have taken both kids to visit their namesakes, and learn the what and why of them, but also to remind them they're the reasons why we'll always revel in more heaven than hell. Amen.