Floyd and Kirk – Division Runs Deep

Hello from central Tennessee,

I have been here about a month and plan to depart for a bit in the next couple days. I will be back before another month passes, but there will still be much to do. This is the first time I have spent more time than to drive through Tennessee (though I did spend two or three days in the Smokies about 20+ years ago). And while I am sure there was a possible similar experience to what I’ve noted these past weeks, I spent part of that former visit in an ER with an intestinal blockage, so it was not a great visit. What has caught my attention this visit is the profound graciousness and politeness of the people here, almost without exception. I have been called sir, asked about my day, been offered deference to go first, and been thanked more in the last four weeks than in the last four years, and with an accent that happily makes three syllable words out of one syllable words that establishes Southern charm in a manner never before experienced. It brings back memories of my cube-mate at Kaneohe MCAS, a young man from Paducah Kentucky. Even yesterday, when somehow parts (e.g. brakes, rotors, calipers supposedly ordered 10 days ago were not available when I arrived for service at the local Ford dealer. The service person was kind, gracious, and apologetic beyond measure. I did also work hard to be as kind and understanding as possible. So that is why I will be here until Monday rather than on the road on Sunday. I have a little loaner truck for the weekend, but the problem is I cannot do anything on the bus in the mean while.

Certainly partisanship is inherent in a two-party system, and I am quite sure the angry public rhetoric that seems indicative of our current world has occurred at other times in our 250 year history. The Federalists vs Republicans (the Democratic Republicans) of the 1790s, and remember duels were considered gentlemanly. How did that work out for Alexander Hamilton? By the 1850s the argument about slave vs free states which led to the succession of 11 states and the Civil War. Reconstruction was not as smooth as we might want to believe as the Compromise of 1877 led to many of the repressive actions of the Southern Democrats, actions that can be directly connected to the Jim Crow laws and the Civil Rights of the 1960s. And yet not everything divisive was directly connected to the issue of individual freedom. The New Deal, which was President Franklin Roosevelt’s answer to the depression, was stymied by the conservative Supreme Court of the time and they would not embrace the constitutionality of much of it for a significant amount of time. The embracing of America as somewhat homogeneous did not really occur until after WWII, and that still left substantive people outside the American Dream. In my opinion, the significant partisanship that characterizes our current national psyche began in earnest when Speaker Newt Gingrich and his Contract with America, which was both a move back toward States’ Rights, but additionally, the Speaker was adamant that working with the Democrats was not going to happen (perhaps it should be noted the Democrats had controlled the House for 40 years), and the increased use of the filibuster, and the rhetoric that referred to Democrats as immoral or traitorous. The rise of the conservative “moral majority” would probably lead to the impeachment of President Clinton based on moral grounds (though the specific charges were perjury and obstruction of justice). Many see the impeachment as profoundly partisan, and that is also the case with both impeachments of President Trump.

The point is simple, partisanship is inherent, but when does it become hyper partisan or ideological polarization? I am sure each of you have some feeling about it, but what do you think? Have we entered a period where the two parties (be it in Congress or on the streets of our hamlets, towns, and cities) cannot see something positive in the person across the aisle? The 1970s saw the Doles and the Dingells, the 1980s saw the Packwoods and the Rostenkowskis, the Moynihans or the O’Neills, and the 1990s had the Hatfields, the Nunns, and even from the beginning Susan Collins has been considered a bipartisan champion. On the other hand, I believe one can safely assert that the 21st Century has been a bipartisan wilderness, and yet, even since 2000, there are legislative accomplishments that show some degree of crossing the ideological lines for the good of the American public (e.g. Homeland Security Act 2002 – post 911; COVID-19 Relief Packages – including the CARES Act 2020; Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act 2021; Bipartisan Safer Communities Act 2022). While the ideological polarization has certainly increased, perhaps more disillusioning is the affective polarization. The emotional distrust and open animosity of the other side makes it almost impossible to move beyond a regular state of stasis that characterizes much of what the public sees and hears, which, of course, brings up another point. Partisan news sources and social media algorithms make the ability to hyper-politicize everything commonplace.

So where does it leave us? I think looking at the death of two individuals and our national response might be worth consideration. I should note that I did not realize they had the same birthday 20 years apart until I did some image searching, what a bizarre irony.The murder of George Floyd, an unarmed, but resistant black man, at the hands of the Minneapolis police sparked world-wide demonstrations and pushed for a social reckoning about the inequality in treatment, particularly of black males, by law enforcement. Certainly it raised the profile of the BLM movement and provided an impetus for reform within the law enforcement community. Certainly, the consequences of the protests were mixed when a number of demonstrators moved toward violence, destroyed property, and created a narrative that moved beyond what many consider acceptable protest. What is significant is the protests in response to Floyd’s death were global. Again, what spurred such profound outrage, beyond the idea of racial justice, is open for debate and is still being pondered over five years later. The systemic reality of inequality boiled over unlike anything since the summer of 1968. While the data compiled by the Pew Research Center shows there is still an elevated concern about racial equality, though less than 5 years ago, the majority of Americans still believe equality is a fleeting dream. Additionally, there are still numerous questions regarding what was accomplished through all that occurred. Certainly, the current backlash against any idea of wokeness and the current administration’s rejection of anything seeming to invoke DEI might argue a negative net sum. And yet, I believe it can be forcibly argued that the the Post-Floyd world is much more ready to respond to and question inappropriate actions at any level.

Undoubtedly, the role of social networking, and its impact on how things are disseminated has been instrumental in the global reaction to the death of Mr. Floyd and the world since. Personally, I find it troubling that attempts to be honest about our racism has been hit with such a rejection. This brings me to the recent murder of Charlie Kirk, the CEO of Turning Point USA and MAGA influencer. While the stories of his killer show someone and something incredibly complex, the past three weeks have been a series of events which are akin to someone bungee jumping. The sort of boomerang bobbing at the end of a jump seems to be what is occurring daily. Again, there is little doubt that Mr. Kirk, while polarizing, was nonetheless, profound figure among his supporters. Additionally, he was simultaneously problematic for a numerous people, groups, or ethnic groups he disparaged. Even when people have noted some of his more controversial statements, be it about 2nd Amendment and some people might die, what he has said about the Civil Rights Act, or, when he noted that he noted that Democrats want America to be less white. Certainly he has used gender, race, and religion to sow discord. To be transparent, as many know I am a retired professor, and a registered voting Democrat. Mr. Kirk responded more vehemently to others on my campus, but I too found myself on his watch list of professors he accused of spreading Communist propaganda. You can canvas scores of my students, and I believe you would find that the great majority would argue that I worked carefully not to impose any of my personal stances on anyone, from my Bible as Literature course to any course I taught. And even with all that, he did not deserve to be shot. That is a full-stop statement. Additionally he does not need to be deified. As I write this, his service was happening, with more than 60,000 people in attendance. I did not watch it, nor do I plan to do so.

What does our national response to his death say when compared to the death of George Floyd? First, it is not really possible to equate them for a variety of reasons, and I do not have space here to elaborate, but Mr. Floyd was in a long line of black males who have died at the hands of the police (and even there, the circumstances are not all the same – certainly some police acted in self-defense), but let me share a story that happened on a Bloomsburg Street one Sunday morning. It was light out and a beautiful day. I was walking down a side street, and I heard someone behind me. Nothing about it, but I realized there was a person behind me. I reached in my pocket to grab my phone, and I was aware of the individual jumping out into the street. I turned, somewhat shocked, and he apologized. It was a young black man, and he said that he reacted because he saw me reach into my pocket. I was stunned. I then apologized to him. Long story short, we began a conversation, and he talked about his growing up in Philadelphia and how they are always aware of their surroundings, and the need to be cautious. Again, much could be said, but for me, I realized how differently he had to manage his life than I as the elderly white man. That conversation and encounter helped me realize many things. Mr. Kirk was a young white man, who used his platform to create a national phenomena. There is nothing wrong with his using that ability to create a better life, and one must say he certainly did it well. About 6,000 people attended the memorial service for George Floyd, but he was not a political figure, and Mr. Kirk certainly helped create and rode the coat-tails of President Trump.

What I want to note is quite simple. The world (and America) has be transformed dramatically from the onset of COVID to where we are now. The response to George Floyd and Charles Kirk have similarities, but profound differences. The outrage of someone losing their life to violence should always be revulsion. Neither of them were saints, and they should not be remembered as such. Their deaths are tragic, but our responses need to be also considered. The profound difference in response across the board demonstrates just how divided we are, and we should all be concerned. When I was a parish pastor, I was very careful and intentional about never declaring a judgment on how God would respond to the deceased. And here I do the same. We are all dependent on the saving grace of a Creator.

I wish both our world and the wife and children of Charlie Kirk as well as the family of George Floyd, some five years later, God’s comfort.

Thanks for reading.

Michael

Successes, Failures, and In-Betweens = Life

Hello from the bus-build,

The morning was not really stellar. I had thought last fall as I pre-ordered things I was making good choices, the morning proved that to be less than accurate. Diesel heaters, what I thought I ordered for my hot water heater (e.g. electric – what I intended – rather than gas). What I have been pushed to realize is I am so outside my element I feel like a pre-schooler. There is so much I respect from others now. I wish I had a mentor to walk me through it all. Some things are progressing, but to say it is more complicated and more slowly than anticipated would be the epitome of understatement.

And while all of that is tangentially related to the title, it is more where I am at the moment as I consider the age I have achieved. While the age is a number as the cliché goes, it is, nonetheless, significant. For the first time in my life, I can imagine not reaching the next decade. That is not said to be morbid, just honest. Few is my relatives were octogenarians, and as I ponder life and a new decade, what I realize is how blessed I am to merely be here to write this post. As I’ve noted in the decade+, since initiating this blog, my very life is a miracle, the incredibly premature child of a 15 year old. I was born at 26 weeks and weighed 17 ounces. I fit in the palm of your hand. The Chair of Neurology at Geisinger, after looking at MRIs and other neurological testing, said candidly, “That you were not born with CP or that I did not have serious mental deficiency was a miracle (his words about mental disability was much more politically incorrect).” When I spoke with a nutritionist/pharmacist to get my Type II Diabetes more under control a little over two years, ago, she noted, “When I read your medical chart and all you have endured, I do not expect to see someone looking so healthy in my office.” Both medical responses remind me of how resilient the human body is and demonstrates how fortunate I have been to have the medical care I’ve received over the decades.

Health is a combination of genetics and self care, and learning to advocate for yourself in our medical system is not always easy. However, in my life, finding the voice to do so was fundamental to my survival. Much has been written about nature and nurture, and, again, as I have often noted, there were ways and periods I lacked both, and yet as I face this new decade, I am neither bitter nor feeling somehow deprived. I have made things work; I have found a way in which I believe moving forward no matter the obstacles, is always a possibility. More importantly, it is the way you can succeed, even when the outlook is less than optimal. It is easy to feel sorry for one’s self. It it is easy to ask the why, but in both cases, there is really no adequate answer.

While I did not really excel in elementary or high school, I was a capable student and when I put my mind to it, I did quite well. It was not until I enrolled as a 24-year-old freshman at Dana College did I seriously apply myself to becoming educated. It is the success of which I am incredibly proud, but not everything in that endeavor was successful either. There were instances where, in spite of hard work, I would have less than great consequence. What I know now, as I review my various places I worked and professed, my position at UW-Stout was one of those periods. While I did some good work there, and I made a significant difference for both students and colleagues, I had so much yet to learn about being an academician. Those difficult lessons prepared me well for the time I would spend in Pennsylvania. Even my first teaching position at Suomi College was a very mixed bag, and my learning on the job would have serious growing-pains. Perhaps the most profound thing necessary is to be consistently working in a diligent and humble manner to improve, to never believe you have made it, but rather to realize there is so much you can do to develop and refine what you do. Perhaps what I realize and find most gratifying is I am both a teacher and a storyteller. I wrote and preached teaching sermons. When I waited tables or managed a restaurant, I taught both servers and guests things they could do to enhance, to boost their interaction with the person who walked in the door. I taught the guest how to do more than merely eat. I helped them enjoy their meal. My mantra was, and is (even in the last year), dining must be an experience. What I know about myself is that my best work occurred when I am interacting with another in a manner that creates a memory and makes a difference.

And yet, as implied by my title, there have been failures also. Again, perhaps most apparent, and certainly painful, are two marriages. Managing that role as a husband is something that required more than I seemed capable of supplying. Looking back, the reason(s) for each marriage’s dissolution are different, but I am the common denominator. I have noted over time some of what effectuated those events, but I believe it was because I was more selfish than I realized, and too often that selfishness, the actions based on what was ultimately self-interest eroded the trust necessary to maintain a healthy spousal interdependency, certainly a big word, but a necessary one. And yet, much like my eventual successes in the classroom, I believe today I would be a much better partner than I was earlier in life. While I still care deeply about my own goals and needs, I see how they can still be met, without there having to be at the expense of the other. Perhaps it is my own maturity emotionally that provides such a viewpoint.

And perhaps most often, my life falls somewhere in the realm of in between. I will never be the perfectly successful individual at anything. And it is hoped I ever experience such a profound failure that one might see it as the quintessential loss. No, most of my life falls somewhere in the middle. This is not to imply I am merely average because I do believe my life has been eventful, and most often quite fulfilling. In spite of my divorced, there are times I hope both of us were happy and hopeful. It was the maintaining of that where the failure occurred. While I believe I was overwhelmingly beneficial to others as a professor, there were individual days that did not happen. And early in my career, there were entire specific classes where I failed my students. Fortunately, the individual class period ends or the semester is completed. I worked to become a reflective practitioner. And I learned to listen to critique without being destroyed by it.

Living the majority of my life in the in between provided an impetus to improve, to never rest on what was accomplished. Much like the current task at hand, there is so much I need to do, but much of it is believing that this project will happen, that it is okay to feel overwhelmed and inadequate. It is okay to see and experience how under/prepared I was and am. The path forward is a bit frightening, and the logistics are more challenging than I anticipated. And yet, the two working with me are patient and kind. They even said they admire me for doing this at this age. This age . . . once upon a time I could not have imagined being this age. Once upon a time I remember my great/niece telling 55 was ancient. I remember the daughter of my first host family exclaiming loudly, “Thirty!” when I answered her question about my age. And yet, it is here and life with all its successes, failures, and in betweens continue. It’s a gift for sure. Welcome 70.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael

Understanding the Consequences

Hello from the bus,

It’s early morning, and I am sleeping on an air mattress in a sleeping bag (well, not actually sleeping because I’ve started this blog). It is September 11th, a consequential day in American history. It is also a day, where as a gun-owning culture, we are confronted with the shooting of a 31 year-old , who was married with two children, as well as another school shooting in Colorado. Both incidences, while horrific, have become common place in our nation. This is not a political statement, but rather a statement of fact, which is beyond unfortunate.

In the past few months, this all-too- common occurrence has occurred in blue states (Minnesota with the killing of state legislators and at a school), now in a red state (with the killing of Charlie Kirk in Utah, also a predominantly LDS state), and in what many now consider a purple state (Colorado with a second school shooting and one might assert that Columbine pushed this kind of violence into the mainstream.). The point being, there seems no place immune from the violence and division that too often ends in the loss of life. A quick check of statistics compiled by the Morgan Law Group, which considers a number of factors when determining the safety of a state, has a listing of the safest and most dangerous states. The two safest are Vermont and New Hampshire and the two most dangerous are Louisiana and Mississippi (https://policyadvocate.com/blog/top-10-most-dangerous-states-in-the-us-2025/). You are welcome to check out the URL. It noted Utah to be the 5th safest state, though some are not feeling that today.

One of my mantras over this past decade, when we seem more and more polarized, has been the following: fear creates anger; anger creates rejection. It seems we have become an angry country, perhaps in an angry world. As I lie here in the early morning hours, 24 years to the day of the American apocalypse, something we call 911, I believe it can be argued that those who attacked America did so out of anger and hate. There was certainly fear of American power and rejection of a world order controlled by American influence. And today, as the finger pointing, from both sides of the political aisle as noted even in Washington DC in the house of Congress yesterday, fear and anger are on display at every level of our society. Sen. Mike Lee (R Utah) rightly condemned the shooting of Charlie Kirk, but when Melissa Hortman, the Democrat from Minnesota (and her husband) (were) was shot in their home in the middle of the night, his response was profoundly different (again worth reading). Violence begets violence. That is a truism. And when the violence seems particularly partisan, the response contributes to and exacerbates an already divisive rhetoric that again is all-to-commonplace. As someone who spent much of his life studying and attempting to understand the power of language, the persuasiveness of language, I see an interesting parallel between what is happening in our society and what happens when two married people decide they can no longer be married. Please hear me out.

When I was parish pastor, people came to me when their marriages were struggling; as I look back, certain characteristics were often apparent, and I would have to note the same in my own failed marriage. Often the terms used about the estranged partner were less than kind (you can fill in the blank). I would often ask, if that person was really that derogatory term, why would you marry them? In honesty, we all have the ability to act in the ways that would earn such a moniker, but if that is our primary personality, the choice to marry was less than wise. After explaining that, and most often getting some sense of understanding and agreement, I would note, such behavior is in response to something happening (or not happening) in their relationship. A second regular occurrence, it seemed, was each person would, at times, work diligently, at least in their own mind, toward trying to repair this important relationship. However, when the changes hoped for did not occur in either the manner or within the timeframe they desired, they would get angry and soon give up trying, all the while blaming the other for failing to respond or making what they believed were the necessary changes. Again, fear and anger ruled the day. Generally, there were two issues in that moment. Seldom were the two working at the same time or in the same direction, and second, there was little communication between them on what they were actually doing. The consequence was generally even further disintegration of the relationship, a greater degree of mistrust, and additional hurt or fear, continued anger, and often rejection (dissolution of the marriage). To this day, I believe being married is the most difficult undertaking one can ever enter into. And I do not see that as a negative or reason to not be married, but rather to do more than exist, it requires incredible, thoughtful, and consistent effort.

Currently, the extremes of either party in this country have become what seems to be more and more commonplace. If you consider each of them to be in a marital relationship of sorts (they have been together for 250 years), certainly that marriage is currently on the rocks. As with any long-term relationship, there are cycles; there is an ebb and flow to how well the union (pun perhaps intended) seems to be going. The marriage license (contract) here is the Constitution, and the way it is framed, it is doubtful another partner will ever be found. This is a serious two-party (person) situation. And this union is complicated by 533 brothers and sisters who do not get along, and 340 million kids, the majority who seem to be in their terrible-twos. Certainly, the ability to communicate with the other is a foundational necessity. Much like the married couple, I do believe there are individuals in both parties who care deeply about America. I do believe that there are individuals who want to serve the country and hold firm to the belief in a representative democracy. Again, pushing the parallel, currently, the struggle seems to be two-fold. There seems to be a fundamental breakdown in the willingness to communicate in a civil manner with the person who thinks differently. We see the consequence of that lack of civility daily. Second, what seems to be s willful vilification of the other as permeated our society from the Oval Office to the basic person on the street to such a degree that one must question if our democracy can survive. I believe this is a very dark time in our country’s history.

And all of that is in light of 24 years ago today people reached across the aisles, across the streets, or the alleyways to embrace the other as we stood unified in our horror of the events in New York City, Washington DC, or Shanksville, Pennsylvania. There was a unity and a love like nothing I’ve ever seen in my lifetime. The incredible good will we received from the global community was squandered it seems. And yesterday in a larger picture, Russian drones were shot down over Polish territory. This has invoked the calling of Article 4 of the NATO Treaty (and emergency meeting of members). Had the drones killed someone in Poland, the reality of Article 5 and it’s invocation would be facing all of us today. Actions have consequences; that is a reality we are taught early on. It seems either we have forgotten this, or in our selfishness, we just don’t care. That is even more consequential. It is a dangerous world, but this is the world we have created. I hope we can retreat from our precipice of destruction on all levels.

Thank you for reading, and reach out and tell someone they matter today.

Michael

Nomad-life and a new Education

Hello from the mountainside,

For the last 10 days, and foreseeable future, with a required trip to Pennsylvania sandwiched in, and before another wedding in Georgia, I am at a bus building camp in somewhat North Central Tennessee. The address is technically Spencer, but I am seven miles away or so, on Baker Mountain. The camp I am at is certainly rustic, but I have running water, a bathroom, and laundry, so that makes things manageable. I am sleeping on an air mattress and in a sleeping bag, but again, this is not the worst thing for me. The most fortunate thing is the group of people currently here. There are four (both a couple and a son and mother) who make it all enjoyable. There are a couple of permanent people (ironically, both Andrews) who are also very helpful, but have other jobs, so access to them is limited. The son, a young man, Brent, with unlimited skill and knowledge it seems, had been a guardian angel. This has made my experience here move to the positive side in ways unanticipated. Thank God for huge favors. The couple, Chris and Stephanie, are lovely people, and Chris, Brent, and I have developed a mutual working relationship that I believe helps all involved.

Certainly, there is so much I understand conceptually, but knowing how to do it is well outside my comfort zone. However, each day I find myself taking more chances to figure it out. Sometimes I feel I am inept, but other times I surprise myself. What I realizing is the cliche of slow-and- steady is not just a saying but a philosophy. It will maybe be a slower, but a more successful process. My bus building guru’s admonishment is “do not build yourself into a corner.” That is wise for two reasons. First, it wastes time and creates frustration, and second, it is expensive in terms of cost. The amount of money on little things previously mentions adds up more quickly than one thinks. The newest piece today, and fortunately because of help minimal expense will be installing new brake pads. I did some helping on the bug recently, and now I can add the bus. While I do have some important tools, I think I need to invest in a couple of additional things to make sure I have what I need if I have even basic issues.

As indicated in my title, this is an entirely new learning process, but also a useful one. I have often said some of the smartest people I know did not attend college, and that is proving true on an hourly basis at the moment. The basic skills of carpentry, electrical, metal work and welding are all essential to me through each day. Learning by doing (what I have referred to as experiential during my previous life) is what many people do every day. Even as I wrote this, I watched one of the Andrew’s strip wires with an attachment on his drill. It is so much quicker. I wish I would have spent more time with my father helping with projects. While he was a journeyman electrician, and he was an expert in that field he know other things, epitomizing the jack-of-many-things and a master-of-one (my paraphrase of the classic. As I write, the wind is coming up, the thunder is present, and in the span of three minutes I have ducked into the bus and it is pouring again. I am fortunate the “clubhouse” as it is called (where the bathroom, shower, and laundry are located), is 30 feet away. The group is bringing food back, and that should arrive soon, but I think they will be shocked by the downpour. It does seem that the weather changes in a relatively short distance here, and the changes can be quite dramatic.

As the back of the bus is still a shell (hopefully the solar, framing, wiring, and insulation will be in within the month), the rain on the roof is incredibly loud. I imagine that will change (hopefully significantly) when the solar is on the roof and the wiring insulation and wood ceiling are in place. it was typical when I was teaching I would wake up around 2:00 a.m. and ponder possible assignments. I am still waking up in the every early morning, but now I am pondering bus-building logistics, design possibilities, and things I hope to incorporate into my 105 sqft. of living space. In spite of my getting rid of so much, I think I still kept too much, in spite of the question I asked myself (not do I want or need it, but will I use it?). I suspect when I go back to Mallard to outfit the bus with the living essentials, even more things will be discarded or thrifted away. We think we need so many things. I am amazed how few things I find myself using daily. And I am not feeling unnecessarily shortchanged or deprived. My jeans get dirty and keeping my hands and fingernails clean are a lost cause. The other day at Walmart I purchased a fingernail brush, but I think it will take more than that. Soaking my fingers in soapy water for 20 minutes might help, but within an hour or two it will appear I did nothing to ever clean them. It is one of other learning elements of the nomadic life. While hygiene is still essential, what I am willing to manage from hour to hour is much different than my last year in the townhouse. There is an interesting dilemma at the moment. I am imagining how I can get some of those interior design elements into my tiny space. These are the elements of the bus that some inspiration comes from my friend, Hayley (look up dayzea on Instagram) and her shuttle bus. I must give her a shoutout for providing significant inspiration for my vision. Second, a shoutout to Rebecca (look up Eden.thebus on Instagram also). She provided the logo by way of a tattoo for my bus adventure to accompany my name of the YouTube channel I am documenting all of this on.

While there are numerous lessons ahead, of that I am sure, process, camaraderie, and progress are the hallmarks of daily life. Ironically, there are a couple people I know in the area (one from college and one from my days at Stout) I plan to catch up with also. Thanks to the people here, each of you, sharing this journey and making the days of trial and error, trial and success, and somewhere in between manageable. I imagine some days will seem like this classic tune, but for now, I am grateful for the new experiential education.

Thanks as always for reading.

Michael

Which Direction am I going?

Hello from the Cumberland Plateau and Spencer, TN,

I arrived here on Saturday night, almost a week ago, having traveled from the Quad Cities, with a stop in Fenton, Missouri, and then back through the tip Illinois and north to south through the corner of Kentucky. For the most part, the drive was good and the weather very reasonable. There was a slight mishap on the narrow two-lane Bridgeport Bridge between Illinois and Kentucky, when a larger vehicle also with wide mirrors, clipped my mirror. I thought I was as far to the right as I could be, but to know avail. The impact pushed my mirrors into my driver side window and shattered it. I pulled over at the end of the bridge and waited, but no one came back; so I drove about 30 miles to Paducah, Kentucky, covered in glass, where I stopped at a Safelite Auto Glass shop. A profoundly kind shop worker there, one named Logan, helped me clean up all the glass and attempted to put a temporary fix on my door. Unfortunately, the temporary fix did not work, and after about 30 miles I took the plastic off and drove the west of the way with no window. That extended time, which had me driving after dark, kept me from making my final destination of Wanderlust Waypoints. I decided, because I had no idea of the roads or where I was staying once I arrived, to get a hotel in McMinnville, a town about 20 miles away. Is it rain that evening, but fortunately not very hard so I had no water to really worry about inside the bus. So last Sunday morning, I arrived here to begin the interior bus build in earnest.

The bus building camp is very rustic, and even a little disconcerting, but there are tools in abundance, toilet, and shower facilities, and the proprietor and two people living on property are very helpful. Currently, there are about eight of us working on builds, and the majority of the people here are willing to work together, asking questions, offering advice, and coming to solutions in the building process. There are two people in particular who have unparalleled in their help, expertise, and kindness, helping this somewhat fish out of water work on his bus. They are both in their 30s. The window was replaced on Tuesday by Safelite on site, and the replacement mirror should be at O’Reilly Auto Parts tomorrow. Each day I have learned something new about reality of the shuttle bus industry, and what most of these places in Indiana did with a cab, engine, a drivetrain, and a chassis. What is built, at least in 1999, was nothing that tremendous. Two 16th or 8th inch pieces of fiberglass around 3/4 inch plywood is about 90% of the shell behind the cab. There is no insulation, and the wiring would make my electrician. Father roll over in his grave.

That being said, every single day has been a learning experience about what not to do when building my bus. Again, fortunately one of my building colleagues, whose name is Brenton (or Brent) is incredibly knowledgeable about most everything, and his willingness to work with me and teach me is beyond generous. Andrew, one of the people here on the property, is also profoundly knowledgeable and generous in his willingness to help. The two of them along with Brenton‘s mother have made the week really quite enjoyable and productive. Back in January and February, when I was painting the bus, all the lights, from headlights to tail lights, and clearance lights were all replaced. The clearance lights worked prior to replacing them, but getting to the wiring after removing the old ones, was incredibly difficult. So I actually hoped the Ford dealer would take care of that issue when they did some other work. That did not happen. In retrospect, that might’ve been a blessing because now the wiring, which was terrible, has been replaced. in the process I’ve learned about connectors called WAGOs, wiring ends called Ferrules, and crimpers called Kneipex. The need for soldering or connectors that require heat are no longer needed. It’s really quite wonderful. It took a day or two, but all the clearance lights are working. While not every day, regular trips to O’Reillys, Lowe’s, or a food store are par for the course. The morning seems to be talking over the strategy for the day and what best to work on first. Likewise, there are things to do to help them in their path. There are times I am a go-for and times I am doing actual work. I’ve also put my cooking skills to work for the good of Brent and his mom. I’ve also worked on some additional body work with sanding, painting, and there are some (hopefully) minor issues with the front fabricated door and its locking, but we hope to remedy that tomorrow.

What is certainly apparent is the importance of detail and considering every possibility of breakdown and making sure it doesn’t happen. This is where the expertise and knowledge of my two partners is invaluable. One piece of advice I was given my back in January was to not build myself into a corner. Between Brent and Andrew, I’m quite sure that won’t happen. The second thing really apparent is that things will not go as quickly as I hope, and understanding that is OK is an important lesson. In the meanwhile, I am sleeping in the bus in a sleeping bag on an air mattress. It is not luxurious, and being able to jump in the shower and be as clean as I’m used to being is certainly not something that will happen easily. However, there is a Planet Fitness in McMinnville. I will be making use of it with my membership. There is something of extreme importance to understand here in the bus village. We are community and no matter what your background you are just another builder; we are dependent on the graciousness of each other and our willingness to help the other person. It is an incredible equalizer and it helps you see people beyond your initial impression. There is a couple that have a long bus and are here long-term. They are gracious and kind, but not as much a part of the community. There is another couple who have been here in the past and are back. Their camaraderie and willingness to ask questions and offer thoughts make them a wonderful part of our group. There is a second Andrew here and he works a lot, but he is sort of the caretaker of the place, and I appreciated getting to know him and learned that he has a background in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. Those connections are important when it comes to appreciation and consideration of the other person.

And yet, the outside world continues. I spent part of the last two days trying to manage how to move money from here to Europe, and I still don’t have it completely figured out. I’m not sure Labor Day weekend is the best weekend to accomplish more. I also spent time this week, managing mail, prescriptions, health, insurance, and all the other things that sit in the background, as I am somewhat isolated here in Central Tennessee. Fortunately, the weather has been outstanding. It does seem a little bit like fall, and it is strange to not be back in the classroom. Thank you to all of you who have reached out and responded on Facebook, TikTok, or Instagram. I will continue to post the progress, and I still will need to be back in Pennsylvania before the end of September. You can follow me at some of the hashtags that are connected to the post. I wish you all a happy holiday weekend as we head into September. My music video for this post seems to describe life as I am experiencing it at the moment.

Thank you for reading.

Michael

Lonely Wind

Robby Steinhardt

Hello from a Starbucks on Clinton Street,

It is in downtown Iowa City, where I once wandered as a student in 1982. Hard to believe it was that long ago, but it is the beginning of another academic year and there are students everywhere. I have been managing things as I work toward getting serious on my bus build, and to be honest, I am feeling a bit overwhelmed, perhaps a bit frightened, and most importantly, a bit displaced. There has been significant reflection on the idea of place over the years; additionally, my consideration of family and belonging have been constant elements of how I understand life. As humans, we are incredibly dichotomous; we simultaneously desire something and push it away, or so it seems. Even though I am well aware of this sabotaging tendency, as well as wish I could remove both the feelings and the actions, it seems Paul’s statement in Romans about that which I hate I do is alive and well within me. I should also be kind, acknowledging a number of people have worked diligently to welcome me, to allow me to feel loved and appreciated, and that has been something experienced for many years, but often I do not manage that care, that love consistently or adequately. Perhaps the important question is simply why?

While I have often pondered, regularly examined, and continually reflected on this seemingly contradictory behavior, what seems most apparent to me as I write this post is perhaps it is fear; perhaps it is somewhat an impostor syndrome, believing, in spite of myself, that I am unworthy of belonging. While I can more than adequately determine what I was told as a child is utter bullshit, the deep-seated feeling created is just maybe it was true. I was not planned for a biological mother; I was not expected nor appreciated from an adoptive mother, and those two events set up a strong sense of abandonment and malignity that I have struggled to overcome for almost seven decades. While there are certainly moments, and even periods, I have felt respected or capable, the belief that I was a desirable person has not been something often experienced. What does it mean to be desirable? It is certainly more complex than many think. There is the physicality of being alluring, and many first consider that aspect – equating it with being seductive, perhaps even fascinating. But desirability has to do with so much more – what makes one preferable, gratifying or acceptable? That goes far beyond one’s initially noticed attributes. As I have often noted, I will never win a beauty contest nor would I qualify as a Chippendale, so I must have something more enduring. I remember a young freshman student once batting their eyes when I told them they needed to revise a paper. The long-story-short was I informed them that intelligence was life-long and more abiding. Beauty or cuteness would change with age.

I recently wrote about the reality of aging, and while I am still the same basic person I have always been, how I express things, how I respond to situations or others has moderated, and yet, the underlying reasons or the things that most affect me emotionally have remained rather constant. It is, in spite of the counseling, the intelligence, the concentrated work I have done, and even the degree to which I understand how such events, though decades in the past, can still cause me to respond as I might and feel as I do. I still believe the post written to my adopting mother over a decade ago is the most consequential thing I have ever written, and it has helped me move beyond the hurt and damage in ways probably beyond what I know, and yet, there are still those moments. The frightened and confused little boy can still come to the fore. The demeaning and abusive words still have the power to cut deeply and quickly. The sense of being unworthy, undesirable, penetrates my soul in a way that all the success, all the schooling, and all the things accomplished disappear and the boy who heard he was undeserving to be in their home can fill my ears and sting me in a way that is still incredibly powerful.

There are moments I wonder what is the piece, the element of my life still needed to bury those demons once and for all? What might I do? How can I achieve whatever it is that will exorcise that brutal monster, who or which, in spite of everything achieved, can still convince me it is not enough? Much like I hide the physical malady that has been my daily companion since the Fall of 1997, I can most often hide the emotional malady that was created when I was adopted in May of 1960. To be fair to my adopting parents, I do not believe either intended to be difficult, or certainly, by today’s standards, abusive. I do believe my father wanted my sister and me with every ounce of his being. My mother, I suspect, was both unsure of, and under-prepared at best, to take on two additional (one pre-K and the other barely kindergarten age) children, but to be kind, I honestly believe she did the best she could. During my most recent trip and time in Iowa, I met with childhood friends, some of whom it’s been 50+ years. Amazingly, each of them, unprompted, spoke of what they saw in our household and how they felt badly for us. One in particular spoke of how they reached out to my sister, Kris, and even helped her run away to avoid the abuse. What was more remarkable was how their reflection helped validate some of the things I remembered or felt, and even in that moment how I felt as they spoke. There was no anger, but there was a sadness for my sister and brother, but also for my mother. What a terrible way to see life. What a horrendous way to experience daily living, even on her side.

Even now as I write this there is a sort of melancholy because I see all the ways it has affected me. How it has influenced periods of my life, from relationships and their failures to schooling and some of its successes. From times where I avoided responsibility to way too many times when I used excessive drinking to cope. Even now as I embark on this excursion, this nomadic existence, it is both escape and freedom. It is taking charge of my life and feeling like I have little control over anything. Again, there is the dichotomous reality I have existed in over what seems forever. This song certainly is a prequel to their more well-known “Dust in the Wind.” It realizes the temporal nature of our brief journey, and while there is a sadness to the song, there is the sort of Psalmodic lament reminding us that life will continue and we need to move forward. Living only a lamentable life is no way to walk our journey. There is a beauty in reflection and realization. There is opportunity in it to move forward. My choice to travel, somewhat in solitude, should not surprise me, and it probably does not surprise those who understand me. Earlier in life I needed people for validation. That is no longer the case. There is no reason to be validated, there is only an opportunity to “carry on” as a “wayward son,” the person who was told he was not worthy, who has never been a biological parent, and yet the figurative father to many. I have honestly been blessed by so many. Driving has always been cathartic to me, a time for thinking and examining. Now as I continue on to Tennessee to build, the road is laid out. The possibilities are endless.

While the video below is not with some of the original members of Kansas, which is still perhaps my favorite band, and one I saw in concert a number of times, it is a poignant live version.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael

American Gothic and My Iowa Roots

Hello from rural Mallard,

It’s about the end of the day, the sun is setting, I can smell livestock from the hog containment facility down the road, and yes, there are flies (scads of them). It was a productive day as I got the weather stripping for the main bus door ordered, and the majority of the painting of the two doors completed (e.g. sealing the seams, taping the area, painting the trim, and painting the storage door, and installing the foam sealer on the inside to waterproof it.). The trim and black is painted on the front door. Some additional taping with happen tomorrow and the final green will be done. Also I ordered a replacement mirror for the outside as one of them was cracked (not sure when that happened), and it will not pass inspection that way.

Driving to Spencer, and later to Emmetsburg, I listened to some interesting pieces on Iowa Public Radio, and being back in my home state the reality of farm life is unavoidable. The acres and miles of 8 foot high corn rows and the incredibly clean rows of soybeans (not like I remember when I walked beans for Jake Goede) are in every direction. As you drive by the hog containment facility up the road, the aroma of livestock is unavoidable. And number of flies is unfathomable. As I sit in the wrap-around porch and dusk begins to settle, the different hues of green are tranquil, beautiful, and calming. I hear the locusts, and the chickens and horses have bedded down for the night. Already there is a layer of fog above the beans across the road. The humidity was significant this morning, and did burn off a bit late afternoon, but it is back. The substantial rains from the weekend, which have hammered the upper Midwest, and shut down the Wisconsin State Fair, have created issues here on the farm as the already saturated earth and rising water table has flooded the basement. The removal of water has been constant since Saturday morning. It does seem some progress is happening, but it is an unceasing process at the moment. Certainly storms seem more persistent, more pervasive, and more phenomenal in nature.

As I go to the diner in Pokey (as the locals refer to Pocahontas), conversations from the tables are markedly different than what I hear at the New Bloomsburg Diner. Men sit at one table and their spouses sit at the next table. The conversations are completely different. Often the women speak about family and plans; the men speak about weather, tariffs and how it affects agriculture, or something that is happening in local politics. The politics of Iowa, one of those “flyover states,” is more significant than many realize, and for more reasons than simply having the first caucus in our electoral process for many years. There is an irony in that while the University system is under attack, the importance of the Iowa State System (e.g. ISU, UNI, and the U of Iowa), be it agriculture, science and technology, engineering, computer science, writing or health sciences, has influenced the country and the world through its innovation. From feeding to healing the world, from innovation in technology, engineering, or communicating, the “tall corn” State is much more than fields.

The famous (and for some infamous) Grant Wood painting “American Gothic” has been interpreted in a variety of ways, and the questions of Wood’s intent still create discussion. Looking at the role of farming, whether it be for the State, the Nation, or the World, Iowa has led the way since the the late 1900s and certainly into the 20th Century. Currently (as of 2023) Iowa ranks first in corn, pork, and hides. It is second in soybeans, soybean meal, and vegetable oil as well as turkeys and eggs (which surprised me). The state is fourth in beef production and second only to California in total agricultural receipts. So that dower looking couple (which was modeled by Grant Wood’s sister and his dentist) perhaps should have been a bit more joyful.

Even today as I drove the two-lane highways, the trucks, the livestock haulers, the semis, and the pick-up trucks pulling anhydrous or trailers of hay the reality of agriculture from every corner is unavoidable. The gravel roads and two-lane highways abound and they are a mile apart. The weather can change in an instant, and I experienced some of that late morning as I met a college classmate today. We watched the regional news as we ate and the number of storms cells popping up changed by the minute. Watching the power of nature on the rolling Iowa bluffs is incredible and awe provoking. And yet what makes it so profound to me is it transports me back to my childhood and how we would watch the cloud move and change colors as a storm developed. The tornado sirens would have us scurrying for the basement. It is common to see the cloud bank as the storm rolls across the Iowa fields, hills, and farm houses. Ad I drove to my hometown, away from the storm front, I still found a cell of intense rain that slowed 65 mph traffic to 30. And yet in spite of the weather, the changing markets, the whims of the political winds, the Iowa farmer manages, and as shown above, thrives. It is by luck? Perhaps there are moments, but farmers are scientists, agronomists, botanists, geologists, and pedologists. They are veterinarians, business persons, and mechanics. And they do this with no guarantee of success. This is the world I grew up in. These are the people I went to church with and saw on the street where I grew up. I did not really give it a second thought, and perhaps too often under-estimated the miracle workers they are.

The story of Grant Wood’s painting and the reaction to it was ( and probably still is) varied and complex. As I look at it, I see the intensity of what the farmer must feel almost daily as they survey all the pieces of their daily existence. The gothic church-like window in the house is a reminder that they are dependent on something and perhaps someone outside themselves. The suit coat over overhauls with a white shirt is a stark reminder that it’s all connected and her jumper over a black dress and the small broach with pulled-back hair demonstrates an attempt at femininity with the appropriate understating of any sort of flamboyant gestures. Life was connected to the land , to God, and family. While there is no hint of a family in this picture, most had children who would become farmhands and eventually the person to take over the farm. Generational farming was something normal among my classmates, people in my church youth group, and even in my own family.

My return to Iowa has been enlightening; it has been a time of reminiscing about and appreciating the incredible things I too often took as commonplace. It is anything but. I am grateful for the reminder.

Aspiration is Life

Hello from the Main Bus Station in Kraków,

This is when this post began, but the lack of synchronization with devices from WordPress seems to have lost it. However, with minimal revision, the post remains relevant. Reflection is a central element of life for me. Recounting, reimagining, reconsidering what has happened, where I have been, and, perhaps most importantly what I learned from it are constant companions. However, before you think I merely live in the past, let me assure you that is not the case, I am always ready to embark on the next adventure or discover the next thing that adds to my own quilt, my tapestry of existence. Earlier in the week when initially writing, while eating dinner with one of my important contacts in Kraków, I learned more about them in a couple hours than I did from days and weeks spent in the past. While some of my impressions of them were only solidified, important pieces of their story were added, making my picture of them more three dimensional, and furthering my admiration of what they have accomplished and who they are.

That sort of adding to the story, the developing of something more complex does justice to the profound individuals most of us really are. We spend so much of our lives rushing about that too often we hardly scratch the surface of the other, missing completely the giftedness of another person. Sometimes it’s because we think we already know; sometimes it is because we are unable or unwilling to invest the time (the unwillingness is selfish for the most part); sometimes it is because we are frightened to do so. Regardless, the consequences of this lack leaves us less complete, more isolated, and too often we do not realize it. Is it simply busyness? That is an easy way to perceive it, but I think it is more complex, and perhaps more insidious. Complexity might seem reasonable, insidiousness sounds a bit more ominous. I think the sort of Machiavellian aspect of this malady, which is what I will argue it is, is we spend too much of our life “going through the motions.” We seldom put the effort we are capable of into something we should, and it relates to all aspects of our life. Certainly there are mitigating factors, but the repercussions matter.

Recently I listened to an interview of the movie director, Michael Mann, actually recorded some years ago (he directed the movie Last of the Mohicans, and others). Being transparent, it is one of my favorite movies (I still remember seeing it in the theater the first time, and I have watched it too many times to count since, including again last night). In this lengthy interview about the movie, he speaks candidly about the amount of work he did before hand, the incredible research into 1757 upstate New York, into the Six Nations, the British and the French military, the building of a set, lighting, music, and the skills needed by both the main and supporting cast of such a complex movie. His attention to every detail, into the minutiae of like the weight in the seam of a uniform was stunning to me. If you have watched the movie, I encourage you to listen to his interview. What caught me, awed me, was his push to achieve something as close to perfection as possible. And yet, while listening to additional interviews with Daniel Day-Lewis and Madeline Stowe, it was evident that his method and attention to his craft is infectious. He gathers people to help achieve that vision, that goal. That takes a special skill. I think it goes back to his philosophy that he wants a life of aspiration, and he does it. Aspiring to go toward the best one can do should be invigorating, it should be motivating, and it can be life-changing.

Even as I approach 70, I wonder what I might do to improve how I go about my life. While in Poland, a precious friend and I were sharing our favorite movies. It was validating to hear that two, and their most loved as one, were the same. One was the movie noted above and the other being Dead Poets Society. I have written about that movie in other posts over the years. Another movie that I find moving, and mostly because of the depiction of the incredible group of people the movie examines: The Last Samurai. Their adherence to a life of Bushido was profoundly moving to me. The “way of the warrior” as a moral compass is more than instructive to me. It is that sort of aspiration that can change someone and influence all they meet. As I find myself pondering travel, improving all I do, imagining how I can make thoughtful changes to my life, I am inspired. While I can feel contentment, I hope to never merely feel something is good enough. Thanks, Dad! That admonishment about being average is well-engraved into my heart and soul.

Going back to my favorite movies, I think it is perhaps the ability for someone to lead, to make a difference to another, to risk out of a sense of justice that connects these movies as well as draws me into their story. The life of Hawkeye as the adopted son of Chingachgook and someone determined to both revere his adopted culture but forge his own life is something to behold. While there is much one can argue from both sides about John Keating, magnificently portrayed by Robin Williams, his care for his students is undeniably strong. Finally, in spite of the sort of White Savior thought behind the using of Tom Cruise’s character, the movie does a profound job of depicting the true nature of the Samurai through the character of Katsumoto, acted profoundly well by Ken Wanatabe. In fact, he would learn his English lines as the movie progressed. Even that provides insight into the hard work done to create a movie and why we are so moved by what we experience through our viewing.

The irony of focusing on something created to understand what moves me toward aspiring to be more is not unnoticed, and most often the scripts are written and developed to sell tickets and make money. That is a simple fact. If you have gone to an AMC theatre post-Covid, Nicole Kidman is reminding us what movies do. They transport us; they suspend reality, which can be momentarily efficacious, but what do we do with the inspiration we might feel. To merely let it pass seems so wasteful to me. I wish to inspire others, to make a difference, and often my position (e.g. pastor, server, bartender, instructor, professor, mentor) has provided an opportunity to do exactly that. And like most, there were moments of success and failure. There are times that I am graciously and painfully aware of both. Aging is a profound equalizer, but also an opportunity to reflect, refocus, and move toward improving how one relates to the other. And yet, even now, I fail to manage that at times (a recent evening was a prime example). However, I can move ahead, always attempting to improve. I admitted that I responded less than I might have. I am not sure the other believes they have any part of the situation, but there is nothing I need to do to convince or explain. That merely continues the difficulty, or so it seems. Aspiring to improve in all circumstances is what I need to do. It is what I hope to do. It returns me to what inspires me, what moves me, what compels me to improve and grow? It comes from reflection on life; it comes from movies that affect my state of mind. It comes from examples of others. The music below is related to the concept of Bushido. Amazing to have such discipline and focus.

Thank you for reading.

Michael

Simultaneously Living and Dying

Hello from Starbucks,

I have been working on a wedding homily for a former student as well as working to acclimate back to a time zone six zones different than the last month. All in all, the first is completed and the second is in process. While there is certainly an element of being cliché in my title, it is something I am pondering more consciously than I have at other times. As my last post noted, life is something that simply (and it is actually never simple) happens. It matters not how you want to divide it: hours, days, weeks, months, seasons, years, decades . . . it does occur with a certain degree of consistency, and yet always a bit unpredictable. What makes it adventurous or more? I think that is both an issue of our own decision making and the things that are beyond our control. It is both anticipation and expectation. And yet how often do we really focus on either of those adjectives? Too often we go through our days in a rather robotic manner, merely working to get to the next day. Why are we content to do so? Just how did we buy into the process of existence is adequate?

Much of what seems now a daily occurrence, from what we see and hear to what we can do or even say, seems to be moving beyond our control, especially if we do have have the same view, the appropriate influence, or sufficient access to someone with power or resources. And the number of texts, emails, or other items that bombard me hourly are often overwhelming. I am at the point I do not want to hear it, and yet that precisely what many hope. I will simply tune it all out. I will step back and throw up my proverbial hands and stop. Over the last months, since returning to Bloomsburg, elements of my life have felt out of my control; plans made, depending on others, and feeling like I have grasped at branches of a tree in a summer windstorm seem to characterize things since March when I came back at the invitation of my former employer. A lack of process management on the part of all, as alluded to previously, ended up in a cavalcade of misunderstanding and the university owing me (at least to me) a significant amount of money, which 60 days later and now closer to 90, is still owed. What I have realized recently is how difficult the sort of transient existence since I left Bloomsburg last fall has been. It causes me some pause, and while I am committed to finishing the bus and managing that for some time, I am considering the best way to do that. What the past 9-10 months have reminded me of is the need for a sense of place. It is a concept that has affected most of my life. The rhetoric of place has been a significant personal and professional focus for the better part of two decades. Perhaps I still need to compose that scholarly piece, even though retired. Sometimes it is a question of being happy or being right (thank you Alan Jackson). As I prepare to head back to Iowa and focus on the bus again, there are so many things running through my head. Reconsideration of places, people, events, and wondering how I fit into it all.

Yesterday I had the opportunity to speak with one of my favorite people, catching up after too long of messages and texts. The significance of their existence in my life goes beyond what words can adequately portray that is for sure. I had so much to learn when I first met them. I was back home after my discharge from the Marine Corps, and as noted in other posts, that family changed my life, from learning about myself (which was painful at times), appreciating language and culture in ways this NW Iowa boy, who did not know a lot, could have never imagined, and finally and perhaps most importantly, taught me about family, caring, and loving in ways never experienced. That seems so long ago, but yesterday’s conversation made it feel like it was recently. That infectious laugh can transport back to another time. And my recent choices about location and residing are directly connected to what they taught this 20-something. There seems to be an incredible dichotomy in my daily existence at the moment, one that is most times a bit disconcerting as I try to manage what comes next. There are the larger pieces of the bus and then the trying to manage maintaining an address and all the specifics that occur with that as a retired person. It seems that I needed to do a bit better planning. I thought I had it figured out, and to some extent I did, but there are more complications than I imagined. Working through it, and that will be a lot of the details over the next 48-72 hours. Details and process: somehow I think I did them better in my work at the university than I do in my daily life. Everyday, there is something new, something unexpected, from managing Medicare and insurance to figuring out the best manner in which to establish some sense of process. Those who know me know I am a creature of habit, and that is being kind, so trying to create a tiny home while simultaneously existing, developing a long-term plan when it is something I have never done, and establishing a sense of comfort has been a bit of a struggle.

Later today I have a memorial service or gathering to attend for the wife of one of my morning group. She was only a couple of years older than me, and he is perhaps a year or two older than that, but it is serious reality check when people your age have ended their earthly journey. What is old? What do I consider old at this point? I am not sure I think of people as old. What I have found myself saying when someone is in their upper 80s or 90s is they have lived a long life. I remember the words of a great-aunt whose 100th birthday was on the day my elder brother was buried at the age of 26. I remember her saying, somewhat matter-of-factly, but also with some sadness, it should have been me who was buried today. That was a profound statement as she knew she had lived the life she wanted. She would live another three years. In the past hour, speaking with a former student, he noted his father was getting old (which is my age) and I noted that I did not think that was old, but he noted he saw significant aging in his father. What constitutes aging? Is it wrinkles, infirmity, lack of mobility? Is it perception? Certainly it is real; it occurs. Again, considering the previous blog, is it cliche to say “It’s just life?” Another of the things often said at the morning gathering is “growing old is not for sissies!” or some facsimile of that. There seems to be little question that the consequence of aging is profound. And yet how much of it is attitude and how much is physicality? I do not believe there is a recipe card. And as importantly, I do believe we have some degree of agency in spite of genetics or any other predisposed thing.

Certainly time keeps moving, there is no stopping it. I started this blog in mid-July and it is now the first couple days of August. It’s been a whirlwind couple of weeks and within the next few days I am headed back to the midwest. Some significant bus things are completed, but there is more to do. The picture above is of the fabricated front door on the bus. It’s been a while coming, b ut I am excited to see it. Monday will be a busy day. Tying up all the loose ends; organizing all the things I want to get completed. And everyone has a schedule. It’s been an incredible six months, with so many unexpected things, but also some amazing things. The meeting of four young people from Ecuador this summer has been such an incredible gift. They give me hope. They are all such stunning and incredible young people: good, smart, kind. Working for a friend and helping them as they move toward more things to do. And yet, it is time to focus on what I need, what I must do. It’s been a dance. If I knew everything I would manage would I have done it? I think so. The intention of coming back to Bloomsburg was to help, while that specific thing did not happen, I would like to believe I did some things to help others. That is what I believe makes the most difference. While I was in Europe, the number of times I was approached about America today was innumerable. We never know what will happen beyond a certain degree, regardless of how carefully we plan. Earlier I noted Alan Jackson in the blog. Now I will note Garth Brooks, and his incredible song, “The Dance.” This version reminds me of a time when we believed so much differently. I was a third grader when this occurred. I am glad I am still dancing.

Thank you as always for reading. Keep dancing!

Dr. Martin

“There’s Just Life”

Buenas tardes por Murcia,

La semana ha volado, pero creo que lo mismo podría decirse de las tres semanas aproximadamente que he pasado en Europa. Powrót do miejsc, w których już byłem, a także odkrywanie nowych miejsc w różnych krajach lub w obrębie tego samego miasta pozwala mi rozwijać moją perspektywę, ponieważ zmienia się moje zrozumienie ludzi i siebie samego. Og selvfølgelig, selvom hvert sted har ensartethed, har der været ændringer. Men de mest tydelige ændringer er i menneskerne og hvordan de er vokset, modnet, og hvordan jeg er kommet videre i deres liv. If you have not given up on reading by now, I will summarize in English.

The last week has flown by, but I can say the same for my entire time in Europe. Returning to places I have been before and discovering new places in different countries or within the same city allows me to develop my perspective as my understanding of people and myself and the changes. And of course, while each place has its own uniqueness, and consistency, there have been changes. But the most obvious changes are in the people and how they have grown, matured, and moved on in their lives. From high school to college, from instructor to being mom or engaged, to growing and working toward the goal of happiness, from being a student to bringing students, and now traveling retired, we are living our lives and painting our own pictures. Undoubtedly, we find that process to be different, not only from the other, but more often than not as something divergent, unpredictable from what we expected, perhaps even unrelated to what we hoped.

There have been numerous times when I have pondered the actuality of life to what I imagined it would be. As a mid-Boomer, I bought in whole-heartedly to the quintessential America dream: the house, the spouse, the 2 1/2 kids, a dog. Most my age know this expectation. It was what you did. Now, some half century later, I have no house, which was a choice – I sold it, no wife, which in two cases was their choice, no children, which is what happened, and no animals, though there were some along the way. So what does that mean? It must mean something different than simply not achieving because often I hear from former colleagues, classmates, or friends and read from posts on my timeline or comments on other social media that people are envious, sometimes jealous. So what makes one’s dream a reality? Do I have a dream life?

I do not consider myself any standard bearer of any sort that is for sure, be that as a paragon of either success or failure. I would not wish some aspects of my life on anyone else, and then there are opportunities and experiences that set me apart from many others. I am well aware of that. It is only recently that I have been able to articulate what I believe is central to what has happened to me, where I have been, or what I (or others) might believe count as accomplishments. Recently during a conversation with my former exchange son, as I fondly refer to him, I noted that life will confront us from time to time with substantive choices. Generally, we are unsure of which choice we should make, of which proverbial path to follow. As I look back at those points for me retrospectively, seldom were they part of some grander plan I had in mind. In fact, what I know now is I seldom had any grandiose idea of who I was or where I might (should) go.

As I reach the place that one calls me a septuagenarian, I am keenly aware that most of my life is a life of consequence. This means whatever choices made were simply they were made in the moment. As I have grown older, I think I ponder options and consequences more carefully, there is not the impulsiveness that characterized my earlier life. What is more likely now is the choice is made with more intentionality, but also with less wondering about what is I made a different choice. As I told Anton, regardless the choice, move forward doing it the best you can. Do whatever you do well. I think my father’s directive about average finds its way into my life practice once again. Too often we walk through our lives as if they are some deterministic continuation of events; we’re merely little more than the feather (remember Forrest Gump ) blown along by the breeze. Many with whom I intersect, interact, noted that retirement would be different, and they are correct. There is a freedom of schedule I have never known, but there are still decisions, possibilities, and things to imagine. I retired at the same age as my father. I think he would have worked even longer if it were not for my mother’s failing health. I do believe I worked as long as I believed I would be effective, and I did not want to be the person who should have retired a year earlier.

And yet it is fair to ask what makes life meaningful? What makes it feel like it matters to more than myself? During this week in Murcia, I have been blessed to meet yet another incredible person, an engineer, a mother, and someone who is beyond insightful. In fact, she reminds me of a former colleague at Stout. Their ability to see through, to perceive, to intuit are like nothing I have ever experienced or anyone I have ever met. Between intelligence, empathy, and goodness, my life was made better. Even beyond all the people I have blessed to encounter, I still question how I might still make a significant difference for the other. It is easy to settle for less, to be lured into acceptance of something that is simply adequate. The title of this post might imply just such a path, but nothing could be farther from the truth.

Too often we are pushed to see life for something that requires more, something that somehow demands either we move beyond or live within the boundaries others decide, the normal as it is often defined. The great majority of my former students believed they were required, expected, demanded to attend college. When I told my first week freshmen this was not true, the shock they often exhibited was readily apparent. When I told them average would leave them unemployed, they often believed me to be harsh. By the fundamental reality of being societal, we buy into so many things. And yet, Doc Holiday (one of the best acting jobs of the late Val Kilmer) notes in some of his last earthly words, “there’s just life,” one should argue that this complex dentist/gambler/gunslinger/friend dies unapologetically. In spite of his difficult death from the consequences of tuberculosis, he had few regrets. His friendship to Wyatt Earp had no bounds, and he was genuine, regardless the circumstance.

As I get ready to return back to the States, once again my experiences have added complexity to my world and how I understand my place and path. The majority of things done over the last three weeks involved familiar places, familiar people, with a couple additions in both categories: a more complete view of two cities and an important addition in a couple places – some new faces and even a couple countries (Iraq, Germany). I remember a former student referring to me as a jet setter because of my travel. That travel is not about jetting off anywhere; for me it is life, just life. It is another way to learn, to appreciate, to comprehend. It is what life is. As I shared this morning, I do not have any difficulty with the person who does not know. Where I find a difficulty is when someone believes it is not necessary to know, a willful ignorance of something. So much like Doc Holiday, for me my life has been unexpected much of the time; it is been eventful and surprising at times, but all in all, it is what it is because “there’s just life.”

As always, thanks for reading.

Michael