Sixty-Seven and Still Under Warranty–I Hope.

I’ve reached that interesting stage of life where I can spend 45 minutes lifting weights at the YMCA, walk a couple of miles, and then need a nap because staying young is exhausting. At 67, I’m probably in the best shape I’ve been in for decades, although my knees seem determined to dispute that claim.

Between Medicare, church committees, Florida politics, and my ongoing attempts to become a better Stoic, there’s certainly no shortage of things to keep me occupied. I’ve even gone back to work, which suggests either an admirable enthusiasm for life or a serious misunderstanding of what retirement is supposed to mean. And somehow, amid all that activity, I’ve discovered something I didn’t quite expect.

Getting older has given me a greater appreciation for ordinary days, good friends, meaningful work, and the people who make life worth living. I’ve had my share of difficult times, and I suspect there are more ahead. But at 67, I’m finding that the view from this particular stage of life is pretty darn good. Even if I occasionally forget why I walked into the kitchen.

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All the Seasons at Once

This entry is in the series Journey Through Stoicism

A year and a half ago, a simple text from my pastor, Rev. Magrey deVega, introduced me to two Latin words I’d never heard before: memento mori. Remember that you must die. That short exchange led me to explore Stoicism, mostly out of intellectual curiosity. I had no idea how important those ancient ideas would become when life started throwing surprises my way.

This past Sunday, Magrey preached on Ecclesiastes and once again mentioned the Stoics. It seems he still has more homework for me. His sermon explored an interesting idea about life’s changing seasons. We usually think of those seasons as coming one after another, but what if several show up at the same time?

In the last eighteen months, I’ve grieved while rebuilding my professional life, found moments of happiness amid uncertainty, and discovered how much steadiness can come from ordinary daily routines. Magrey’s interpretation of Ecclesiastes gave biblical words to what I’d been learning through Stoicism. It also reminded me that many religious and philosophical traditions reach similar insights about change, acceptance, and our limited time.

In All the Seasons at Once, I look back at how a simple curiosity became something deeply personal, and how Ecclesiastes added a new layer to that journey. It’s a reflection on finding hope in uncertain times, learning to value ordinary days, and realizing that grief and happiness can sometimes happen together.

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The Books They Don’t Want Our Children to Read

This entry is in the series Hate Groups
This entry is in the series Deep Questions
This entry is in the series Florida Legislature
This entry is in the series 2026 Elections

Growing up, I didn’t have books that helped me understand who I was. People rarely talked openly about being gay,

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Whose Choice Is It?

This entry is in the series Education

Florida calls it school choice. But choice for whom?

An $8,000 voucher may open doors for a family that can add another $10,000 or $15,000. For a family that cannot, the same voucher may leave those doors closed. And even when the money is there, private schools still decide whom they admit. That raises a harder question than the slogan suggests: whose choice is it?

In this essay, I look at what public education was created to do, what Florida is changing, and why the stakes go far beyond schools. Drawing on our March Voices of Justice: Speak Up for Students program at Hyde Park United Methodist Church, including insights from USF education policy professor Dr. Bill Black, I argue that public education is one of the few institutions designed to give every child a claim on shared public wealth. Weakening that promise risks hardening the very class divisions public schools were built to overcome.

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The Friends Who Walk With Us

This entry is in the series Journey Through Stoicism

Some friendships stretch across decades. Others arrive for a season, bringing exactly what we need at the time. A little wisdom. A little laughter. A place to rest. A reminder of who we are when life gets noisy.

In The Friends Who Walk With Us, I reflect on the people who have shaped my life, from friends who knew me when I was young to newer friendships formed in this latest season of change. Some are still close. Some have drifted. Some are gone. Yet each left something behind.

The Stoics understood friendship as part of a good life. Seneca wrote about loyal friendship; Marcus Aurelius about our deep connection to one another. Over time, I’ve come to see that friendship does more than comfort us. It changes us. We carry forward the patience, courage, humor, kindness, and wisdom others once gave us.

And maybe that’s part of the quiet duty of friendship. To receive what others give us.

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When Home Changes Hands

This entry is in the series Journey Through Stoicism

Today, the house I called home for at least 62 years belongs to someone else. The deed has changed hands, yet the rooms still hold holidays, family gatherings, neighborhood friends, and snow days spent sledding down the street. Somewhere in my memory, the treehouse is still waiting in the backyard, and Mom is still inside making space for us.

Grief comes in pieces, and sometimes one of those pieces is a place. Selling the house feels like another small loss, arriving nearly a year after Mom’s death. The house still stands, but I can no longer return to it as home.

Some pieces came with me to Tampa, including Mom’s porch rocker and my grandfather’s mantel clock. The rest must live in memory now. “When Home Changes Hands” is about letting go of a place that helped form me and hoping the next family fills it with the same warmth, safety, and love that Mom gave us.

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A Softer Kind of Courage

This entry is in the series Journey Through Stoicism

What if strength does not always look like pushing harder?

In this new essay, I reflect on the habit of staying busy when financial pressure, uncertainty, and professional pride start to feel heavy. Being active can help us move forward, but it can also keep us from facing what’s already there. A surprising lesson from the human lungs opened another way of thinking about courage, one built around softness, space, and the wisdom to release what we can’t control.

The Stoics never asked us to become rigid. They asked us to see clearly, act where we can, and stop exhausting ourselves against what will not move. A Softer Kind of Courage is about learning when effort serves us, when it becomes avoidance, and why sometimes the bravest thing we can do is pause long enough to breathe.

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The Tuition of Regret

This entry is in the series Journey Through Stoicism

Most of us have regrets, whether we admit them or not. A word spoken too sharply. A kindness withheld. A friendship allowed to drift. A warning sign ignored until it was too late. We may like the idea of living with “no regrets,” but that has always struck me as too clean. If we have lived fully, loved deeply, failed honestly, or hurt someone along the way, regret eventually finds us.

In this essay, I explore regret through the lens of Stoicism, Daniel Pink’s work on The Power of Regret, and my own recent life. I have come to think of regret as life’s tuition. Nobody wants to pay it. Sometimes it is painfully expensive. But if we refuse to learn the lesson, we pay the tuition and never receive the education.

The Stoics did not ask us to deny regret or drown in it. They asked us to examine it, learn from it, make amends where we can, and then lay it down. Regret is not meant to become a permanent home. It is a classroom. The lesson may be to call the friend, offer the apology, act sooner, speak more gently, or create new great days while we still can.

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When Justice Outruns Wisdom

This entry is in the series Journey Through Stoicism
This entry is in the series The Stoic Virtues

“I told her I was ready to give up. I wasn’t. I was frustrated.”

What began as a communication bottleneck in a church office became a lesson in leadership. When drafts moved without review and a public link went live incorrectly, urgency surged. The concern was legitimate. The tone was not. Justice rose quickly. Wisdom lagged behind. Where has urgency outrun wisdom in your week?

In this new essay, I contemplate what the Stoics understood about anger, discipline, and leadership—and why the same dynamic I saw in myself is evident at the highest levels of national leadership. Anger is a signal. It is not a strategy. Wisdom must organize justice, or institutions begin to fray.

Read: When Justice Outruns Wisdom.

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