Lately, I have been seeing myself as a sponge too. But less impressionable around ideas and more impressionable around feelings. Absorbing stress from work. Anger from traffic. Frustration from my wife. Even anger from the not so great words from a show that I watched.

It makes me feel heavy and emotionally gross. Like the sponge the morning after Thanksgiving when I forgot to wash it out before going to bed.

I wrote more about it in this week’s article →

As much as I want gratitude to magically change my attitude, sometimes it is just out of reach.

That’s when I reach for a one-minute pause. A pause to slow me down. Take a breath. Create a little space (and maybe loosen up the dirty sponge feeling).

I can then reach for gratitude.

Gratitude changes our attitude. The pause helps us find it.

This Week’s Fieldwork

1. Pause.

This is the hardest part.

When you feel overwhelmed. Angry. Tired. Frustrated.

Take 1 minute to breathe. To step back. To just pause.

No phone. No app. Just pause.

2. Breathe and Get Curious.

Depending on how triggered you are, the pause might not last long. That’s when you get curious.

Count the breaths. Listen to the wind in the trees. Track the squirrels.

Find something in your surroundings, and just notice it.

3. Notice the Gift.

Shift to gratitude.

Be thankful for the trees in your neighborhood. For the squirrels being active.

If you can’t find something in your surroundings, open your photos app.

Be grateful for the moments that you captured. Remember them. Feel them.

Why This Works

My brain is pretty good about finding things to worry about. Especially when I am already worried. Work. School. Kids. Wife.

Plenty of influencers call it a range of different things. I call it my magnifying mind.

Brain science would support this.

When we’re anxious, the need for safety is triggered in our brain. It then becomes hyper-focused on threats. Don’t think about threats just as a cheetah chasing you or an alien invasion. It often times is small…

The pile of clothes…

The stack of dirty dishes…

The small remark your son makes that doesn’t land well with you.

When our brain is triggered, anything and everything could be a threat. It can magnify the smallest things and convince our body that the remark is actually a cheetah. That’s why sometimes our reaction to a small thing feels way out of proportion. We are processing it as small, its a cheetah.

Research on mindfulness offers some support to what the Friday Fieldwork steps are trying to accomplish. When we can bring our attention to the present, we can become more aware of what we are experiencing. Rather than being controlled by what or brain is telling us is a threat.

Pause + gratitude? It gives us something else to do once we bring our brain to the present.

The stress doesn’t really disappear. It also isn’t the only thing we need to focus on.

Closing Reminder

Sometimes my sponge is extra gunky.

When that is the case, my attention can only magnify the negative.

A one-minute pause helps me slow it down.

Gratitude helps me shift its focus.

The gunk is still there, but it isn’t the only thing.

Sometimes, that’s my best way to combat what my mind wants to focus on, because....

Keep Exploring Gratitude

Read: The Magnifying Mind
More on how my magnifying mind can steal my attention from gratitude to a messy house.

Listen: Gratitude > Gas (Especially on Mexican Night)
A podcast that talks about how gratitude on Taco Tuesday can change the feeling in the room, eventhough it can’t fix the smell.

Read: Gratitude Was Helping Me. Then I Included My Boys.
Sometimes when you include your kids, things get harder. When I included them in my gratitude practice, it helped it get stronger.

August can be a really challenging month.

Swim season ends, so the boys are home with endless energy. This August our local pool was closed (I know, gold-plated problems), so I couldn’t just take them there. Let them swim. Climb trees. Make friends. Eat questionable food from the snack shack because a meltdown is coming and the cooler is empty.

It is a great way to end summer. Endless days. Mild sunburns. And pruned toes.

This August got none of that.

By the time I was heading around the state doing PDs for schools, the house was all but falling down, tempers were explosive, and I was hugging my wife goodbye with equal parts joy and apologies.

Joy to get a break. Apologies for what she was going to be dealing with.

My trips to give PD’s are not a vacation. Last-minute time changes. Always less time to present, never more. Teachers that just want to set up their classrooms. Leaders that expect miracles.

On this specific trip I was asked to help 80+ teachers learn how to use nicer words so they caused fewer fights amongst themselves.

Yes, I am serious.

When you walk into a room full of anger, you can feel it. Your pulse increases. You start to mildly sweat. And your brain rehearses the opening lines as if they will make or break your day. Today was that type of day. This would require a lot of internal regulation. A lot of one-minute pauses. A lot of gratitude.

As the day progressed, I was able to receive their frustration. Acknowledge it. And help them choose a better way to articulate it.

The temperature slowly seemed to drop.

People were trying. Smiling. Reflecting. The occasional laugh sprinkled in. The room became safer.

The day ended. Leaders were happy. A couple of teachers even thanked me. I left the room better than when I entered.

The problem was, my nervous system still carried the load. Like a sponge that cleaned the dishes and never got squeezed out itself.

Filled with the mess. The anger. The stress. And slightly stinky.

I had helped the room work through those big feelings. I, on the other hand, absorbed them just like that slightly stinky sponge.

Nowhere to go as I walked back to my hotel.

The One-Minute Pause: Making Room for Gratitude

I wrote about the inspiration I often receive from John Eldredge. His one-minute pause had already become a go-to habit for me.

Seems short and sweet.

When my nervous system is fried, it is a long 60 seconds.

I was pretty sure that gratitude would help shift my attitude. I had practiced it enough to know it could help. With myself. With my boys. With others.

But in that moment, it felt just out of reach.

So I started with the simplest thing I could think of....

a 1-minute pause.

I set my timer. Locked my phone. Took out my headphones. And let my eyes wander.

People had their heads in their phones. Rushing. Bumping into each other.

Busses and trains moved loudly. Cars honked. Bikes weaved through all of them. Begging to be hit.

I was pretty sure this was not what John wanted my pause to be.

Zero calm. Zero peace. Zero space between me and the feelings I had absorbed.

My anxiety was laser focused on the things that were feeding my anxiety.

Slowly, my mind helped me notice other things.

A baby eating an ice cream cone. Pure joy. Pure mess.

An almost perfectly clear sky with just faint clouds holding on.

A small park appeared across the street that seemed to be an oasis in a concrete jungle.

I walked to it. Found a bench.

And did something Drew and I did all the time in our backyard.

I watched the birdies.

A feeling of gratitude entered.

Thankful for my moments with Drew. Thankful for this random park bench. Thankful for a crazy staff session that brought me to this perfect moment.

My shoulders finally relaxed. My jaw unclenched. My lungs exhaled a breath I didn’t know I was holding in.

Eldredge’s one-minute pause just met Dr. Emmons’ gratitude.

On that bench. In the middle of the city. In my body.

The pause didn’t eliminate the feelings. The stress. The events.

It did create just enough margin in my mind to notice something different.

I wasn’t going to be able to ignore the stress of the day. Or forget it. Or bury it somewhere deep. It was real. But the pause helped me see it wasn’t the only thing happening.

The session was over. The stress and frustration was in the past. Yet, I was still the sponge. Still carrying it all.

What I was still carrying was making me miss what was happening right in front of me.

Nature. Calm. The birdies. And some how even though he was 500 miles away...

My son.

I wasn’t forcing gratitude. I just finally had enough space for something else to fill what frustration and stress was filling. Gratitude for the present. The gift.

Finding the Gift in the Present

I love animated movies. They are always packed with some subtle adult humor, lessons the whole family can discuss, and usually something that feels perfectly placed for me.

Which brings me to Kung Fu Panda.

I have showed clips of Ku Fu Panda to illustrate a lesson with teachers, coaches, and even my kids.

The main character is mildly overweight, food-loving, goofy panda named Po. (My kids might describe me like this too!)

In the middle of Po’s struggle to figure out who he is supposed to become, a slow moving turtle named Master Oogway interrupts his frustration and stress. He offers wisdom that somehow belongs in the movie and on the wall at a monastery.

“Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. That’s why they call it the present.”

I have watched that scene a couple of dozen times. Laughed at it. Smiled at it. But until I found myself sitting on that park bench, did those words really hit me.

My tough day was now yesterday’s history. Ok, maybe it was only an hour ago. But, it was in the past but I was still bringing into my present. Robbing me of the gift that was right in front of me.

A little park. A beautiful sky. Some birdies holding my attention. And a memory of my son that made me feel like he was there sitting on my lap.

The 1-minute pause helped create space for me to return to the present. Gratitude filled that space showing me the gift right in front of me.

The Reset: Pause Before Gratitude

I really enjoy coaching people. Helping them work through difficult situations. Helping them know what is happening internally. Helping them feel less stress and more satisfaction.

At schools. At work. At home. Even on the baseball field.

Some moments I think I do a pretty good job.

Some moments I even manage to keep my mouth shut and just listen. My wife might not agree.

I am learning that making it through those difficult moments doesn’t usually mean I stop carrying them when it’s over.

No matter how much I clean the sponge after I use it to clean the dishes, it still carries the gunk from what it just washed. Its that gunk that can add up quick.

Gunk from a teacher session.

Gunk from a disagreement with my wife.

Gunk from snapping at my boys.

Gunk from a bad inning.

That gunk often times prevents me from jumping right into gratitude. It wants me to remember what I did. What I didn’t do. What I messed up. It wants me to stay gunky.

But I can breath.

Pause.

Look at what is happening in front of me.

Perhaps, I’ll notice a little gift I missed.

I am learning that the difficult moment doesn’t have to completely vanish for me to appreciate the moment I’m in.

Sometimes the gift is already there.

I just need a minute to notice it.

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Keep Exploring About Gratitude

Read: I Didn’t Expect to Be Grateful in the Hospital Room - How a nightly practice helped gratitude show up in the middle of a lit of fear.

Try: Friday Fieldwork — Gratitude in the Hard Parts - A three step process to help dads like me find gratitude in the hard moments.

Listen: Watching the Birdies - A podcast reflection on how my 4 year old making me watch the birdies with him turned into the mindfulness practice I needed.

Pretty small until I have to find that many things I’m grateful for before bed.

But that is the practice I believe helped prepare me for the hospital room. For the ambush. For the news we didn’t want to hear.

Somehow, gratitude found its way into the fear.

You can read more about that moment here →

This week’s Fieldwork is how I have been working that muscle.

This Week’s Fieldwork

1- Pick Your Place

Maybe it’s your notes app while in bed.

Maybe it’s in a journal in your living room.

Maybe it’s in your planner at your desk.

The important thing is it goes from your brain to being written down. Flexibility is key but so is consistency.

2- Pick Your Number

10 is my magic number. It usually stretches me to find 1 or 2 things that don’t immediately come to mind. And that is the point.

Less than 10 was almost too easy. 10 requires that I think past just the moments that brought me joy. Sometimes I have to find gratitude in the hard parts.

3 - Stick to It Without Shame

Nightly is the goal. But missing the goal shouldn’t cause a shame spiral. That defeats the purpose.

If it isn’t working, maybe pick a new place or a new number. The goal is consistency. The hope is that practicing regularly makes gratitude easier to reach when we need it.

Why This Works

Rick Hanson describes our brain’s ability to hold onto the negative experiences with this image:

“The brain is like Velcro for negative experiences but Teflon for positive ones.”

That sounds weirdly familiar.

The minute I get into bed, all the frustrations from the day flood my mind. No notes needed.

Remembering what I am grateful for takes more work. Especially around number 8.

Writing it down forces me to slow down and spend time there. With what went well. Who helped. What made me laugh. What made me smile. And…

what I will probably forget as the flood of frustrations overtakes my nervous system.

Some nights, the frustrating parts still get plenty of airtime. As the list grows, I start remembering more things I’m grateful for.

Things I hadn’t thought about since they happened.

Gratitude protects my perspective.

Closing Reminder

Tonight, pick your place. Pick your number. See what you remember when you give yourself a little time.

Taco Tuesday counts.

And if you miss a night, come back the next one.

Keep Exploring Gratitude

Read: Gratitude In Action
Sometimes showing gratitude through service is more powerful that saying it in words alone.

Listen: Gratitude > Gas (Especially on Mexican Night)
A podcast that talks about how gratitude on Taco Tuesday can change the feeling in the room, eventhough it can’t fix the smell.

Read: Micro-Blessings That Stick
One the rare occasion that the house is quiet, and I am with only one son, I speak a small and specific micro-blessing to let them know I see them for the blessing they are.

We had a plan.

I would spend the morning with him. His wife would arrive before the doctors started their rounds. My sister, a doctor, would join by speakerphone to help translate the medical jargon that the rest of us would feel like was French.

It was the third day after his surgery. He had a portion of his lung removed, and we were waiting for the results from the 32 lymph nodes they had evaluated.

I held up my end of the bargain.

Early arrival. Favorite breakfast. Strong coffee. Hiding my fear.

Sadly, the doctors did not follow our schedule.

Leading up to my dad’s surgery, there was a lot of fear.

I lost my mom suddenly years ago. My siblings and I have had a lot to work through since then. She was the great connector in our family.

My sisters and brother were especially close to my mom.

I was especially close to my dad.

I’m also a lot like him.

We don’t show a ton of emotion. We rarely ask for help. And by rarely, I man never. And our battles are usually fought alone.

What I know about myself is that when I reach the scariest part of the journey, I often wish someone knew I wanted more help.

Preferably without me having to ask, since I grew up thinking asking for help showed weakness.

Which makes it a little difficult for people to know.

So, for three mornings, I showed up early with breakfast and kept him company until his wife arrived around lunchtime. My version of forced help. He wasn’t going to ask and I wanted him to know I wanted to be there.

That meant doing something I wasn’t very good at….

ask for help.

I knew that I didn’t want to pass that flaw down to them. And that I needed to talk to them about it. So I leaned into what I didn’t want to teach them. I asked for help.

With me not around for morning routine, I asked if they could each cook a breakfast this week. That would allow me to leave earlier and be with their Papa. They instantly said yes. They said that they could also take care of making lunches, which was a nice little bonus.

I told them I was scared. They asked if it made me think of my mom. I told them it did.

I explained that Papa might not ask for company, but I wanted to be there when he woke up.

They got to FaceTime him in the evenings.

We prayed. We cried. We shared our fears. They gave me a big long hug that made me

And I doubled down on gratitude. At dinner or bedtime, I made sure we talked about what we were grateful for. Every night, I wrote down ten things of my own. Most centered around my dad. Some centered around his surgery.

My fear was already getting plenty of practice. I wanted to practice gratitude, too.

That third morning, my dad and I had time to talk about the worry. Then the doctor walked in with his assistant.

His wife hadn’t arrived. My sister wasn’t on the phone. The doctor talked about the surgery, then launched into the results.

It felt like a mild ambush.

There had been a finding in one of the lymph nodes. They recommended an aggressive round of chemotherapy, followed by immunotherapy. The doctor sounded hopeful about the chances of beating it. With the added risk factors, they wanted to be aggressive.

I took notes on my phone while trying to ask the best questions I could. I watched my dad try to process the news and ask questions, too.

We weren’t ready for what we heard.

And we really weren’t ready for when the doctor left. The silence seemed to last forever.

I broke the silence by repeating what I believed I had heard. My dad clarified some things. Then he did the same, and I clarified a few more.

We wanted the details in my notes app so we could explain them to his wife and my sister.

The heaviness was heavy.

Really heavy.

And then my mind went to gratitude.

I didn’t will it to arrive. I hadn’t planned on it showing up.

I told him I was really thankful for the surgery.

The surgery had allowed them to find this.

I kept thinking about that one little lymph node and what might have happened if it had gone unnoticed. Because of his lung issue, the doctors had discovered something they believed they could treat successfully.

There was a hard road ahead.

But they had found it. They had a plan.

My dad expressed gratitude as well.

How Gratitude Protected My Perspective

In my last article, I wrote about the nightly gratitude practice I started and eventually shared with my boys.

Before my dad’s surgery, I became especially determined to keep it going. I knew I was scared. I knew where my mind could go if I spent the whole night thinking about what MIGHT happen.

Each night, I spent time noticing what I appreciated within the experience we were having.

When the ambush by the doctor was complete…

gratitude arrived without having to go looking for it.

I firmly believe my nightly practice helped prepare me for that moment. Apparently, there was a muscle I could work on outside my garage gym.

Gratitude protected my perspective.

I was still scared for my dad. But I could also recognize the significance of finding something the doctors could act on.

The fear was real. So was the blessing.

What We Practice Can Stay With Us

In The Little Book of Gratitude, Dr. Robert Emmons describes how practicing gratitude is like fertilizer, it helps more gratitude grow. He references and idea from Rick Hanson who said that….

“The brain takes the shape the mind rests upon.”

That made me think about my gratitude work outs. Workouts that left my brain resting in gratitude as I fell asleep. Rather than resting in worry.

Leading up to my dad’s surgery, there was plenty of that, worry. Worry around death. Worry around saying goodbye to another parent. Worry about not being strong enough to give him the support he needed. My mind could find plenty to worry about. It didn’t need any help from me at all.

Gratitude was a different kind of workout. Each night, the phone would come out. The notes app would open. I would type out 10 things I was grateful for from the day. If it was Tuesday, Taco Tuesday was on there. Some days were harder than others. But 10 was the magic number of reps. That was the goal. Sometimes more. Never less.

And The Little Book of Gratitude helped me see that my nightly practice was actually preparing me to be grateful later. Like a muscle that keeps growing after you worked out.

Now if only a few minutes of working on my abs could go that far.

The Reset

I do not do this every night. Heck, sometimes I miss a couple days in a row. I have started to notice that when I get away from it…

Resentments increase….

Frustration comes faster….

And sometimes my boys ask if I’m okay. WAY before I’ve stopped to ask myself.

So I return to my phone, a notes app, and ten things I am grateful for from the day. Because I am training for those moments that I want gratitude to be there for me.

Like the morning with my dad.

The doctor left. The room was silent. The news was heavy. And the blessing was still there waiting for me to notice it.

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Keep Exploring About Gratitude

Read: The Magnifying Mind - My mind has the ability to turn a pile of clothes, a full sink, or an empty toilet paper role into the story of the night, even if it was a great one.

Try: Friday Fieldwork — Gratitude in the Hard Parts - A three step process to help dads like me find gratitude in the hard moments.

Listen: Gratitude > Gas (Especially on Mexican Night) - A podcast reflection on gratitude with the boys, on Taco Tuesday.

A mindset shift desperately needed…

A skill improvement that has not been easy to develop…

And a rhythm that has found me during the hard parts of my day.

What started as some advice from someone I respect turned into

a night time routine with my boys

that helped me and them find a new attitude of gratitude.

Read more about it below →

Sure we could find that attitude when we were laughing, smiling, and feeling great. What I didn’t expect was the push from them to find that attitude during the hard parts.

The dad snaps.

The bad work days.

The 6th inning baseball game loss.

The Lions somehow losing another heartbreaker.

What started as a family rhythm to settle down for bed

made its way into how we helped and supported each other during the hard parts.

I continue to believe that my kids often times teach me just as much about being a good person as I try to teach them. This is one of those instances.

This Week’s Fieldwork

1- Find the Hard Part

You probably already know which moment it was. Its probably a moment you have already counted as a failure. You snapped. Lost your patience. Handled something Poorly. Said something you regretted.

2 - Find the Blessing

Don’t explain it away.

Don’t make it all roses and butterflies.

Look for a blessing within it. Maybe it was the hug after the snap. The snuggles during the Lions’ defeat. Or the sing along in the car on the ride home from the game. Chances are ,the hard part wasn’t ALL bad. Find the blessing.

3 - Let It Be Enough

Maybe you found something to be grateful for.

Maybe you can’t find it yet.

Either way, you don’t have to force it. Finding a blessing doesn’t mean that hard part is resolved. An apology or tough conversation might still need to happen.

For tonight, let what you notice be enough.

Why This Works

When something goes wrong, my magnificent mind magnifies it.

It replays it. Over and over again.

The dad snap. The obvious mistake. The thing I should have said differently.

Looking for something I am grateful for gives me another part of the experience to remember. The part that my brain doesn’t like to naturally look at or remember.

I still dad snapped. But this time, I apologized. Then I got to have an amazing hug, and I felt close to him again.

Before, I would have counted that whole moment as a failure.

Now, the apology and the hug make my gratitude list.

The mistake still matters…

but it isn’t the only part of the story.

I want to remember that part, too

Closing Reminder

You don’t have to be grateful that the hard thing happened. But, there may be something within it that deserves some more of your attention. Something that you will be grateful you didn’t miss.

And if you can’t see it right away, you haven’t failed. You might just need more time, more space, or a pushy twelve year old to force you to name something.

I am learning to count my blessing in the moment I used to count as failures.

We are practicing gratitude. Not perfect practice. Just practice.

Keep Exploring Gratitude

Read: Gratitude In Action
Sometimes showing gratitude through service is more powerful that saying it in words alone.

Listen: Gratitude > Gas (Especially on Mexican Night)
A podcast that talks about how gratitude on Taco Tuesday can change the feeling in the room, eventhough it can’t fix the smell.

Read: Micro-Blessings That Stick
One the rare occasion that the house is quiet, and I am with only one son, I speak a small and specific micro-blessing to let them know I see them for the blessing they are.

Subscribe now

Initially, we started reading as a family. We figured it would help the boys slowly transition to a state of calm. We’d choose a book that had a movie, read nightly, and celebrate finishing with dinner, popcorn, costumes, and a watch party. The boys would always declare the movie “totally not as good as the book.”

When that didn’t quite work, we tried getting them to jump their energy out on the trampoline. That often devolved into death wrestling, which we have accepted as normal.

THEN we would read.

Complete exhaustion then a calming activity…..

It didn’t matter. The transition to the bedroom was always a disaster.

Even if they were exhausted from death wrestling.

Even if they were calmed down by serene book reading.

Even if we sent them up separately or rotated them through different tasks.

Eventually, we accepted that they couldn’t manage that transition by themselves. My wife and I took turns escorting them upstairs, refereeing them through the process, and trying to escape without dropping the deep dad voice.

The deep dad voice got them quiet.

But it left me riled up and weighed down with a sense of shame that felt brutal.

I couldn’t settle myself. And I definitely didn’t feel like doing my gratitude list.

Why I Started a Nightly Gratitude List

At the time, I’d started keeping a gratitude list in my Notes app.

It was helping me turn down my anxiety, recognize parts of my day I’d overlooked, and possibly help me drift off to sleep a little bit easier than normal.

When my wife took the boys upstairs, I could finish it easily. I could reflect on the day, recognize the good, and settle down.

When it was my turn to referee the nighttime routine,

anxiety and anger could lock arms and dominate my body and mind. I’d struggle to sleep, then wake up groggy and grumpy the next morning.

Gratitude was helping me. But after a bedtime battle, it didn’t feel within reach.

I often try to find ways to include the boys when I’m working on something myself.

Gratitude became one of those things.

Practicing Gratitude With My Boys

I decided that every night, before bed, we’d go around and name one thing we were thankful for. I’d snuggle with a different boy each night, listening as they took turns.

At first, it was small stuff:

“Pizza for dinner.”

“Extra screen time.”

“Dad didn’t burn the burgers this time.”

Sometimes they were still mad at each other. Sometimes mad at me. But we did it anyway, even through gritted teeth.

Then it shifted.

“Playing catch after practice.”

“Grandma calling to say hi.”

“The way Hunter made me laugh today.”

Eventually, the gratitude turned into prayer.

I shared that story in Gratitude > Gas (Especially After Mexican Food), and in the companion Garage Talk podcast.

What I didn’t explain was how much practicing with them helped me continue practicing myself.

It was a jump start.

When I left their room, I could open my Notes app and finish my own list.

What I’m Learning About Gratitude

Since then, gratitude has grown into my nightly reflections, my one-minute pauses, and the way I express appreciation to others. It’s also helping me when uncertainty circles like sharks in the water and my mind starts imagining everything that could go wrong.

I’m learning that I don’t have to wait until I feel grateful to begin. Some nights, we started while we were still frustrated with each other. There was still something worth recognizing.

Including the boys helped me follow through on something I was struggling to do alone.

And I’m beginning to understand why I keep returning to it:

Gratitude protects my perspective.

I can love my wife and four boys, recognize how blessed I am, and still get completely consumed by what went wrong in the last fifteen minutes.

Gratitude helps me remember more of my life than whatever is frustrating me right now. When I practice gratitude…

worry and frustration don’t take up quite as much room.

That makes me want to keep practicing…

and understand it more deeply.

The Reset: One Thing You’re Grateful For

For now, the question we started with still feels like the right place for me to return to:

What’s one thing I am grateful for today?

Since I consider tacos the perfect food, I always have a place to start.

Even if I’m less grateful for what happens afterward.

I am so grateful for the people I just spent twenty minutes trying to get into bed without inspiring emotional breakdown.

Theirs.

Or mine.

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Keep Exploring Gratitude

Over the next few articles, I’ll share what I’m learning through reading, reflection, and trying these practices in my own life.

• Gratitude Protects My Perspective — Why I keep practicing when life is going well. [Future article link]

• A Minute to Notice What I’m Missing — Bringing gratitude into a pause, while life is happening. [Future article link]

• I Want Your Appreciation. Please Don’t Give It to Me. — Wanting recognition, resenting its absence, and then awkwardly dismissing it when it arrives. [Future article link]

• Practicing Gratitude During Uncertainty — Leaning on gratitude when I’m worried and can’t control what happens next. [Final title and article link to come]

4 boys?

All day?

No screens?

No big plans?

A very high chance it will end with something breaking in our house, someone breaking a bone, or dad having an emotional break down.

Something about the impossibility of it all felt like a challenge. And I love a challenge.

You can read more about it here→

Normally I would bury my head in a spreadsheet and my computer, come up with a 21-point plan to make it happen, and happily await my standing ovation as I lead my family towards a “day of rest” that was both impactful and serene.

This time, I paused.

I went for a walk without my phone.

Let the idea bounce around in my head.

And then returned to the house with the first, and most important step, to make this all happen…

I need to involve the family.

This Week’s Fieldwork

1- Involve the Family

Have a quick family meeting beforehand. Let the kids know what the family will be doing, and ask them:

• What do you want to do for fun?

• What do you want to eat?

• What do we need to do today to be ready?

When they help build the plan, they are far more likely to remind you when you head to the garage or try to check a football score.

2 - The Let It Wait List

Before your day of rest, use the meeting with the family to write down at least three things most likely to pull you back into work mode: errands, laundry, email, fantasy football, a Detroit Lions game, etc

Get those done before, plan on doing them afterward, or create some type of small exception (5 minutes of fantasy football review) to make it still work.

3 - No Poop-Scrolling

We all do it.

We escape the wildness of the moment to go doom-scroll while we poop.

On your planned day of rest, don’t do it.

Your kids will find out.

You will know.

Shame, shame, shame.

Why This Works

Our house will never just wake up and magically be able to start a day of rest.

Our Let-It-Wait List helps us decide what can wait proactively, before we react to the “urgency” of errands, emails, chores, or fantasy scores.

Involving the family gives everyone a voice in the plan…

and makes rest something you do with your kids,

not something you do to them.

And no poop-scrolling?

That is just a small way of practicing the bigger goal: being available when your family is actually together.

Accept that your plan will not be perfect. Your day won’t be serene. You are really just trying to create a little bit space before you look up and the day is over.

Space to stop,

breathe,

and enjoy the people already in the room.

Closing Reminder

Your family’s version of rest may not look serene.

I know ours doesn’t.

It may include Catan arguments, trampoline body slams, a house that still needs attention, and zero moments of silence.

But that does not make it less meaningful.

As put in a comment…

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Keep Exploring the Pause

One-Minute Pause — My Algorithm Wants Me to Be a Better Dad
A one-minute interruption to autopilot when my attention is everywhere except where I actually am.

Long Pause — The Long Pause Has Been Stolen From Us
What happens when we give our minds enough uninterrupted space to wander, process, and breathe.

Family Pause — Our Family Needed a Pause. I Needed an Intervention.
Creating room in the calendar to recognize and respond to what the people I love actually need.

one-take garage talk for dads trying to stay present, regulate under pressure, and lead their families a little better than last time.

This week’s podcast brings together four articles about something I’m learning I need: a pause.

What started with taking one minute to breathe before snapping at someone I love grew into phone-free walks, a protected family evening, and an attempt at a day of rest—with four boys and laundry that apparently wasn’t going to fold itself.

In this episode, I talk about how even helpful content can steal our quiet, why being constantly together doesn’t always mean feeling connected, and how my desire to give the boys every opportunity can leave us all hurried.

And yes, my recovering perfectionist brain would love to turn rest into another project.

Real stories. Practical resets

Referenced in this episode

• A Day of Rest or Just More Chaos

• Our Family Needed A Pause. I Needed and Intervention.

• The Long Pause Has Been Stolen From Us

• My Algorithm Wants Me to Be a Better Dad

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Last fall, our weekends became relentless.

One son playing travel soccer for the first time.

One son playing on a new football team.

One son swimming for a new swim team.

And our youngest experiencing marathon car rides against his will.

This was the first time in our lives that our boys were all playing a different sport. It was also the first time they wanted to do something different. When you have three boys within 20 months of each other, let’s just say they do A LOT of things together.

We knew it would be crazy.

We knew it would be hard.

We knew they needed their individuality.

So we did what any crazy parent would do with 3 extremely active boys, we put our heads down and we white knuckled through all of it. Spent way too much money eating drive thru food. Lost way too many water bottles.

And bribed our youngest with way too many sugary treats.

Those bribes always seemed to haunt us later.

Our weekends felt more like a taxi service than family time. When we did get to breathe on Sunday, we vegged out. Too much screen time. Too little play time. I am pretty sure we had a couple of Sundays that we only saw the kids when the snack pantry ran out of food and they came upstairs begging for their first real meal at 4PM. It was not something I ever thought I would openly admit in an article on the world wide web. But here we are.

The worst part about it, it felt like we were growing more apart as each weekend passed. Laundry piles were sprouting up all over the place. The smell test became the official way the boys picked out what they would wear that week. Take out was ordered way too often. Partly because we were exhausted and partly because we never did the dishes.

And then my dad surprised us with a visit. He hadn’t seen us in a while, was in town visiting a friend, and went old school and knocked on the door without calling.

The horror of opening the door.

Seeing my dad,

Quickly accepting that he was coming in and realizing we lost our four year old under 1 of the 3 laundry piles in the family room.

Let’s just say, he didn’t stay very long. But it was the wake up call we needed.

Part exhaustion.

Part embarrassment.

100% realizing a change was needed.

Trying to Out-Spreadsheet Exhaustion

I went into planning and scheduling mode. Devising spreadsheets of responsibilities. Color coded calendars for chores. And a unique reward system to get everyone inspired to happily complete their chores.

And by unique, I mean a spreadsheet and a deep dad voice.

Thankfully, I happened to be reading a book about the negative effects of constant hurry. At the moment I was reading about the Sabbath. It was talking about how just a handful of decades ago, nothing was really open on Sundays. People went to church. They went home. Prepared a great meal.

They slowed down. They relaxed. The rested.

That seemed like a far off fantasy land for us. But it intrigued me. Maybe we needed to prioritize a “day of rest” rather than try to out spreadsheet exhaustion, fight apathy, and a sports schedule that never seemed to end.

So we sought out to try a “day of rest”. No screens. No errands. No busyness. Just time to breathe and enjoy each other. Seemed serene and naive at the same time.

Leading up to our first attempt, we had a decent amount of things to do. Sports weren’t going anywhere, but oddly they rarely showed up on Sunday. We had to grocery shop, meal prep, and do something about the newly named Mount Everest of laundry in our bedroom. Groceries and meal prep got completed. Mount Everest was downgraded to a sledding hill, but we accepted it was going to be a sledding hill for at least one more day.

We were firm about it. No work during our “day of rest”.

We slept in. Took our time making breakfast with the youngest. Enjoyed conversation as the boys cleaned up. And then realized it was 10AM, and we had NOTHING to do. The piles of clothes were screaming to be folded, but we were going to stick to not tackling that hill today (which was not actually that hard to accept).

Part panic when we realized we committed to no screens.

Part anxiety when we couldn’t check our fantasy teams.

Part relief when we remembered the Lions weren't playing that day.

As the day went on, we found things to do.

Played catch.

Played Catan (which is our favorite board game at the moment).

Painted.

Sat on the back porch while the boys jumped on the trampoline. I am pretty sure our neighbors would call it death wrestling from the sounds they hear over the fence, but we just call it jumping.

Despite the chaos on the trampoline, I finally felt like a dad who made time to do something our family desperately needed, rest.

That rest turned into laughter.

Conversations.

Smiles.

Snuggles.

All the things I thought my boys had grown out of were the very things that found their way to our back porch that night.

We admired the sunset while the fall weather made us snuggle a little tighter to stay warm.

Room to Rest. Room to Enjoy.

A lot of our overpacked schedule came from a place of love.

Loving their excitement.

Loving their need for individuality.

Loving being a family that showed up for it all.

Somewhere along the way, that love resulted in a constant state of hurry.

And when I read the quote “hurry and love are incompatible” in The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry by John Mark Comer, I had to take a step back.

So when Comer described the Sabbath as needing to “stop working, stop wanting, stop worrying, just stop” I wanted to try it.

Sure, I could stop folding laundry. Mt Everest was proof of that divinely given gift.

But I couldn’t stop worrying.

I couldn’t stop the hamster from running towards nothing.

Even when our calendar finally gave us a break, my mind kept finding something else we needed to do. Something worth more hurry. Something that I wanted to do but my family probably didn’t need or want.

There is research behind the value of protecting ordinary moments together. A study of 647 families found that satisfaction with everyday leisure involving Dad…

shared meals, board games, hobbies, and playing in the yard…

was strongly associated with family connection and functioning.

And yes, I am choosing to count death wrestling on the trampoline as a yard activity of leisure.

I don’t think that means that a game of Catan will solve our family problems.

Especially when Jackson takes control of the robber for the fourth time and delivers his evil laugh that sparks fear in the rest of us.

But I do think it gives us another reason to make room for the simple things we enjoy together.

Our boys still needed opportunities to explore their own interests, and those opportunities would keep our calendar busy.

But we also needed time to enjoy being a family without watching the clock for wherever we had to be next.

The Reset: Let Something Wait

Look at your calendar together. Find a stretch of time this week you can protect for rest. Start with an afternoon if a full day feels impossible.

Ask everyone: What would we enjoy doing together if we weren’t rushing?

Handle what needs handling beforehand. Put the screens away. Let one unfinished thing stay unfinished.

Then give yourselves time to settle in. The urge to fill the space might show up before the enjoyment does.

Play. Eat. Sit. Rest. See what happens.

The laundry will still be there.

Give the laughter a chance to show up, too.

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Keep Exploring Intentional Rest

One-Minute Pause — My Algorithm Wants Me to Be a Better Dad
A one-minute interruption to autopilot when my attention is everywhere except where I actually am.

Long Pause — The Long Pause Has Been Stolen From Us
What happens when we give our minds enough uninterrupted space to wander, process, and breathe.

Family Pause — Our Family Needed a Pause. I Needed an Intervention.
Creating room in the calendar to recognize and respond to what the people I love actually need.

but every sports season it happens.

Games.

Practices.

Scouts.

Birthday parties.

Costco runs and meal prep.

I look up and we have not had any time to just be a family. We are frustrated. Tired. And one bad look away from having a wrestling match bust out in our living room.

It doesn’t help that open slots on our calendar scream at me to be filled with some type of new experience, fun tradition, random adventure, or a long drive with no where to go.

When all we really need is time to breath. I wrote about it this week→

The only way I knew to fix it was to schedule time to not be scheduled. This week’s fieldwork is about the starting point, and then how to evolve from there!

This Week’s Fieldwork

1 - Identify

Find a day every week that you can have time as a family. An hour works, and afternoon works better. Gold star if it can be the same day every week.

2- Schedule

Put it on your family calendar. Work Calendar. A sticky note on the fridge. Or if you are like me, use all of them. Writing it down makes it easier to do it every week.

3 - Rhythm

Create a rhythm with your time. Not a rigid structure. Look at the week. Eat a nice meal. Bust out a board game. Go for a bike ride. Do something a kid wants to do. Or do absolutely nothing. That’s kind of the point?!?!

Why This Works

Whether you need divine inspiration from Proverbs 15:22 or research based evidence from a Harvard Study, both point me toward some of the same things.

More connection.

Less stress.

Growing together.

For me, the Family Pause creates room for all three without me having to schedule every minute of the month, week, or day.

We’re creating time to connect without rushing to the next activity.

The boys are are getting the time and space to figure out their own responsibilities, how to prioritize them, and when to fit in some down time.

Hopefully so they don’t pick up this bad habit from me.

And all of us feel less pressure from trying to squeeze everything into an already full week.

Closing Reminder

For us productivity nut bags…

For those of us who can prioritize, optimize, Pomodoro with the best of them, and schedule our families right into exhaustion…

The Family Pause might be exactly what we need

We schedule time to not be scheduled.

We protect it on the calendar so that, for a few hours, nobody has to worry about the calendar.

No elaborate plans.

No optimizing.

No squeezing one more thing.

No rushing to the next thing.

Just some room to breathe together.

And maybe that’s the reset our families needed all along.

It gives us something to schedule while helping us recover from the productivity trap,

because…..

Subscribe now

Keep Exploring the Pause

One-Minute Pause — My Algorithm Wants Me to Be a Better Dad
A one-minute interruption to autopilot when my attention is everywhere except where I actually am.

Long Pause — The Long Pause Has Been Stolen From Us
What happens when we give our minds enough uninterrupted space to wander, process, and breathe.

Family Pause — Our Family Needed a Pause. I Needed an Intervention.
Creating room in the calendar to recognize and respond to what the people I love actually need.

Last winter, our schedule hit a tipping point.

I had one finishing swim season, one playing soccer, one in the school play, all three wrestling, and all three in Scouts. The older boys were also getting crushed by their first year of middle school. And I mean crushed. Never before received grades. Tests that were no joke. And a social atmosphere that was evolving daily.

We were overextended. Over-scheduled. Dysregulated. Running on fumes.

Then the oldest three got really sick. And this wasn’t a little sick. They all dropped two weight classes. Cooper couldn’t keep anything down. And at one point, we were pretty sure at least one of them was seeing visions.

Suddenly, our schedule wasn’t about getting to practice, rehearsal, meetings, or wherever else we were supposed to be.

The schedule became: get better.

Weird how sometimes our bodies have to scream at us to slow down.

Christmas break gave us a chance to regroup, although Christmas break isn’t exactly the ideal time to have an existential crisis about overscheduling. There were holiday parties. Family traditions. Christmas stuff. And now a mountain of schoolwork the boys had missed while they were sick.

We slowed down. Sort of.

But there was still work to do.

The make-up work actually helped. School was the priority, and everyone understood that. Wrestling practice could be missed. Scouts could wait. Something had to give.

My wife had been telling me some version of this long before three sick kids forced me to listen. She’s a homebody. I am...not.

An empty Saturday on the calendar looks relaxing to her.

To me, it looks like available inventory.

What could we do? Where could we go? Is there a park we haven’t been to? A family tradition we haven’t invented yet? Perhaps this is finally the weekend our children need to experience competitive llama shearing.

Many of my better ideas about fatherhood have come from gaining someone else’s perspective. Sometimes I go looking for it. Sometimes it’s offered subtly.

And sometimes I need to be beaten over the head with it.

My wife has used all three. She’s one of the few people willing to interrupt me when I’m knee-deep in planning the next wonderful program, initiative, sports season, or family tradition with a question that makes me reconsider the whole thing.

This time, we listened.

When school started again, we decided Monday would be different.

Monday became our pause.

No sports. No scouts. No llama shearing. No place we needed to get to.

The boys could come home and we could look at the week together. What’s due? What’s happening? When are you going to do your homework? When will you get your chores done?

Not us barking the schedule at them as we rushed out the door.

Them figuring it out.

And because nobody had to be anywhere at 5:30, dinner could take longer than 22 minutes to make. We could make something fresh. Something that required chopping things. Something that didn’t get heated up in the microwave.

Afterward, if the weather cooperated, maybe we’d ride our bikes to the park.

If it didn’t, we’d pull out a game.

Nothing revolutionary.

We just weren’t going anywhere.

Learning to Recognize What Our Family Needs

I have spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to fit everything into our family calendar. Optimized for maximum epic memories.

My wife has spent a lot of time trying to convince me that we don’t have to.

And once I can take a step back from optimization mode, I can see that she is right.

I see the opportunities that come from filling a calendar. She sees the opportunities that come from leaving some of it empty. Neither of us have to abandon our perspective BUT I have to be willing to let hers change mine.

Our Monday’s are no longer exciting. We do homework. We make a family dinner. We might play a game or go for a bike ride.

The most important thing is, we are together. Nobody is watching the clock wondering when we have to leave to get somewhere.

One of the things my wife continues to teach me is that my perspective, no matter how well-intentioned, is incomplete. I tend to see the opportunities that come from filling our calendar. She sees the opportunities that come from leaving some of it empty. Neither of us has to abandon our perspective. But I have to be willing to let hers change mine.

Because…

sometimes the things I want for my family aren’t the things my family needs from me.

Support: Making Room for What Matters

Proverbs 15:22 reminds us that our plans benefit from the “counsel” of others.

Apparently, my wife could have saved herself a lot of frustration if she’s just handed me a Harvard research paper.

The Harvard Center on the Developing Child identifies three important principles for supporting children and families: strengthening relationships, developing planning and self-regulation skills, and reducing sources of stress.

Looking at our Mondays, I can see all three.

We’re creating time to connect without rushing to the next activity. The boys are are getting the time and space to figure out their own responsibilities, how to prioritize them, and when to fit in some down time (hopefully so they don’t become like me). Which is also resulting in removing some of the pressure that comes from trying to squeeze everything into an already full week.

And the best part?

We don’t need an NFL style playbook to fit it all in.

We just need to protect a little room in our calendar.

Reset: Protecting Our Family Time

When I think about the kind of family I want, I often come up with words like loving, connected, close, team.

When I look at some of my decisions, I often come up with rushed, stressed, disconnected.

That is a problem.

Because, if I want someone in my family not named Jeremy to describe our family the same way I do, my decisions have to reflect the kind of family I say I want.

Which means scheduling what matters most, time to be a family.

Most days for us, it’s Monday. Sometimes we have to move it around. The most important thing for us is to put it on our calendar at the beginning of the week, and protect it.

It doesn’t need to be another elaborate family experience or the opportunity to finally squeeze in llama shearing. It doesn’t even need to be a perfect family afternoon.

Its to make sure that the only thing scheduled that day…

is being together as a family.

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Keep Exploring Family Connection

Read: Fictional Fathers - Clark Griswold: It’ll Be Fun... Right? - A look at what Clark Griswold teaches us about the difference between creating the perfect family experience and enjoying the one we're actually having.

Listen: Garage Talk: Crushing Your Kids at Mario Kart - How watching my kids react to a game of Mario Kart made me rethink what they actually wanted from me..

Read: When Expectations Kill the Moment - How my expectations can keep me from recognizing what my family needs as a moment unfolds.

When I finally get a few sacred minutes to myself, my mind doesn’t know what to do with them.

It panics.

And signals my hand to grab my phone. Swipe up. Tap. And distractions await.

As dads, our to do list never really gets done. Especially if we are trying to create something on the side, coaching a team, or lead Scouts. We want to be active fathers in the lives of our children. Which requires us being more present, more connected, more active and disgustingly overscheduled.

The common thread is more, more, more. Its that more that prevents us from having anytime for a long pause. the kind of pause that is good for the mind, soul, and late night grumpies.

This week, I wrote about the long pauses I sue to get on the train in Chicago and the phone free walks, rides, and runs that are helping me find those long pauses again.

This Week’s Fieldwork

1 - Identify

Find times in your day that you could already take a long pause. Maybe after dropping the kids off at school, during lunch, after dinner, or on the way to the gym.

A walk counts, so does a bike ride. You don’t need to invent an hour that you don’t have by waking up earlier or going to be later.

2- Schedule

Put it somewhere you will see it. A sticky note. Outlook. Family calendar. Somewhere visible that will remind you what you will do and when. Openings have a way of disappearing.

3 - Protect

Leave your phone at home. If you have to bring it, keep it away or locked. Skip the podcast, music, or Audible book. Let yourself notice what’s around OR follow a thought you have.

Why This Works

When you have a full schedule, a pause can feel unproductive. Even negligent.,

Researchers studying creativity found that people who spent a break on a undemanding activity that allowed the brain to breath, showed up with more creativity towards a problem they encountered before the activity.

Simply resting was not as effective.

I can’t promise you’ll solve fatherhood or start painting like Picasso. But the research gives me a reason to let my mind wander,

and my nighttime grumps give me a reason to keep doing it.

Closing Reminder

I keep falling for the productivity trap that I have created for myself. The idea that accomplishing ONE more thing will make my evening easier.

Usually, what my family gets instead is a dad who is white knuckled his way through the day and brought the grumps home with him.

My list will be there after a walk or a ride. But I might show up to that list with a little bit more energy. A little bit more creativity. And maybe just a little bit more happiness.

Because…

Keep Exploring Fatherhood and Presence

Read: My Algorithm Wants Me to Be a Better Dad - What happens when even good self improvement content keeps us scrolling instead of being present

Listen: Garage Talk: Watching the Birdies - Exploring the wonderful tension of a 4 year old wanting to watch birdies when Dad just wants to get to the garage gym.

Read: Bedtime Brains and Doodle Therapy - How late night doodles help my son’s active brain power down for the night.

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Not too long ago (at least in my mind), I lived in Chicago. I found Public Transit fascinating. You mean I can get somewhere and NOT have to drive?

No road rage.

No printed out maps (ok maybe it was long ago).

No internal calculation around how much farther I could drive on empty.

It was great. Me. My new Ipod. And a window to stare out of.

In a city where the hustle was real, I found myself lost in my music, staring into space, allowing my mind to meander from thought to thought.

Sometimes I forgot my magazine or puzzle. My mind would recover by slipping in and out of thought, meandering where ever it wanted. People would sometimes share a newspaper they would finish. Other times I just stared.

Chicago effected my nervous system a lot more than my time in the South. But on those rides, I had room to let my mind and body take a long pause. Every day.

As a dad or four, interruptions to my thinking are as plentiful as weeds in my lawn.

Screams.

Tears.

Fights.

Requests for homework help.

Sports schedules.

The pauses I had in Chicago feel almost impossible now a days. Even when I have the chance, my hand somehow always grabs my phone. My face opens it with zero effort, and my thumb takes over before I realize what has happened.

It could happen at a stop light. A Starbucks line. Halftime during a kids game.

I am beginning to think that these are the dad-versions of staring out a train window. But I often don’t notice that opportunity until its gone…

or until some angry driver behind me honks their horn because the light has turned green.

Learning to Find The Time to Pause

A fellow dad writer has been commuting across London without his phone, spending two hours a day doing what I used to do on the train: mostly nothing. He describes realizing one day that he’d picked up his phone without remembering deciding to.

I know that feeling. Nowadays, I can barely muster a one minute pause once I am lost in ignorant algorithm bliss.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the long pause. The one Chicago use to give me without me needing to plan it. The kind of space my mind could wander around in for a while.

With 4 boys, a full schedule, and a dad still trying to ward of the dreaded double chin…

I keep telling myself I don’t have time for that.

Sure, influencers online will tell me to just wake up earlier.

Cool internet bro! You have you, your feed, your macros, and your workout plan to worry about.

But I am beginning to recognize the moments in my day that the time I need is already there.

In the Starbucks line.

At halftime.

On the drive to the gym, when I could leave the podcast off and let my thoughts go wherever they go. The “hard” part is noticing it before I fill it. Maybe that’s why I am starting to see those moments as what they really are…

sacred.

No one is asking anything of me. I don’t need to ask anything of myself either. I can just take a long pause.

Support: Mind Wandering and Undemanding Activities

Researchers studying creativity found something interesting: people who spent a break doing an undemanding activity that encouraged mind wandering returned with more ideas for a creative problem they had already encountered than people who rested, did a demanding activity, or took no break.

The researchers did not test what happens when you hand that break over to your thumb. I have done enough of my own fieldwork on that one.

Let me be clear, I am not expecting to solve the mysteries of fatherhood halfway through an undemanding walk, a mildly demanding bike ride, or a run in which I’m mostly focused on keeping my lungs from exploding.

But I have noticed that all three help me

unplug,

get active,

and let my mind wander.

Maybe my mind needs more chances to wander other than where my thumb sends it.

Reset Using the Long Pause

The type A in me sometimes wins out, and it has with this reset. I have started tracking how many undemanding or mildly demanding activities I do every day without my phone.

My mind literally HAS to wander if I leave my phone behind, even though my brain can make a pretty strong case for bringing it. I have four boys. Someone could call about…

• A trip to the emergency room,

• A sports schedule change,

• A unsolvable debate about who would win in a fight: Captain America or Iron Man (clearly Captain America),

All amazing reasons to keep my phone nearby. But I have discovered that if it is within reach, my thumb will take over. Filling that space with whatever if thinks my attention wants in the moment.

The statistics I’ve collected so far indicate that three phone-free moments a day keep the nighttime grumps away.

One day, that might be a walk to pick up Drew, a walk after lunch, and a bike ride to the gym. Another day, it might be a bike ride with Hunter, a walk before a big meeting, and an evening stroll with my wife.

Usually there are more walks than anything else. Some pauses give my mind room to wander; others give me room to notice the person beside me. Either way, the long pause is alive and well.

As for my very scientific goal of three pauses a day:

More is fine,

less is not,

none is no bueno.

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Keep Exploring Fatherhood and Presence

Read: My Algorithm Wants Me to Be a Better Dad - What happens when even good self improvement content keeps us scrolling instead of being present

Listen: Garage Talk: Watching the Birdies - Exploring the wonderful tension of a 4 year old wanting to watch birdies when Dad just wants to get to the garage gym.

Read: Bedtime Brains and Doodle Therapy - How late night doodles help my son’s active brain power down for the night.

• healthy toothpastes that will brighten my teeth with no harmful ingredients…

• eye cream designed to make me look younger….

• or what RB3 to draft on my Fantasy team.

Other times it feeds me things that deeply matter to me….

• how to balance coaching mistakes and supporting the kid…

• a monthly collection of great dad writers…

• or a podcast on Continuous Improvement of the Dad

Whether the content is nonsense or genuinely meaningful, the end result it the same,..

I keep scrolling for way too long while my kids wonder if I am ever going to look up from the phone. You can read more about it at the link below.

What I have realized is I need an emergency action plan. A parachute during a free fall. A stash of toilet paper when the roll is gone. A Snickers bar when I turn into Betty White.

Something easy. Simple. Devine.

That’s what this week’s Fieldwork is all about…

the Pause.

This Week’s Fieldwork

1 - Pause

Put down the phone for one minute when something lands.

Set a timer if needed.

2- Question

Ask, “What is this asking me to notice?”

3 - Choose

Release it, write down one sentence, or practice one small thing.

Maybe you begin by creating a 12 point action plan before remembering step 1 - PAUSE. (I am looking at you Type A dad)

Why This Works

The pause doesn’t make the all you can eat…

open 24 hours…

algorithm disappear.

It is always there.

Ready to feed you nourishing content like healthy chicken and salad or some of your dirty pleasures like soft serve or corn bread. The goal of the pause is not to shut it down, it is helping you decide if you really need that second helping.

In one randomized study of 232 adults, researchers found that both planned phone time-outs and training in more intentional smartphone use helped reduce problematic phone use and time spent on the phone. They also found that planning when and how to use the phone was connected to fewer daily phone unlocks. The goal wasn’t simply to use the phone less. It was to use it more intentionally.

One minute isn’t magic. Nor is it overly complicated.

It just creates enough space between the impulse and the next swipe for me to choose what happens next.

Even if I choose to watch Pitch Perfect clips.

Closing Reminder

What we give our attention to shapes who we become.

As a dad, I want to give more of my attention to my kids so I become a father that is

present,

curious,

and connected.

Because….

It happens all the time.

Sometimes it is about the harmful ingredients in toothpaste.

Sometimes it is about trying to find the perfect opening activity for a Cub Scout Pack meeting.

This time, it was about something I heard in a podcast from John Eldredge called the One Minute Pause. Nothing long or deep. Can you pause for 1 minute? When something goes well. When something is wrong. When you are angry. When you are grateful. When you are distracted.

I have noticed that I can be with my kids but not be connected to my kids. Just in straight up autopilot mode. My mind is thinking about a conversation I wish I handled differently, or a professional development I am running next week, or what kind of toothpaste is best for older men. None of them are more important than being present with my kids, but yet my brain treats each one like an emergency requiring my immediate attention.

Lets just say, the idea of pausing for one minute, landed.

Then I read a post that took it one step further with a breath in and breath out prayer. Then a video appeared from someone I have never heard of, that actually keeping your mind completely free of thought for 1 minute was the only way towards inner peace. At some point, I start wondering:

Is God, the universe, fate, or my Uncle Fred trying to tell me something?

Maybe.

Or maybe I clicked on one video about being a better father, and my algorithm decided I needed seventeen more. Sometimes I think that merely pausing over a video is enough for the algorithm to start reproducing similar content faster than rabbits do...

you know what.

The difficult part is that my feed isn’t filled entirely with nonsense. It introduces me to people, ideas, and movements that inspire me. It helps me make connections. Sometimes it gives language to something I have felt but couldn’t explain. Every click feeds me more.

More ideas.

More inspiration.

More dopamine.

More apparent revelations.

By the end, I have discovered solutions to thirteen problems I didn’t know I had,

internalized almost none of them,

and can’t actually remember what my mind wanted answered.

Don’t worry. My brain will remember it at 3 a.m. and flood my body with enough adrenaline that I will wake up sweating, short of breath, and reaching for the same phone that started all of this...

to “calm” me down.

What I Learned About Being a Present Dad

I used to think the problem was wasting time on meaningless content. I think the new trap is that meaningful content can become its own form of distraction. I have learned to trim my feed, follow people that fill my cup, and unfollow people that no longer serve a purpose. The problem still exists, I can show up to to read an article I saved from one of my favorite Substack writers and then end up consuming an endless stream of ideas about becoming a better father without staying with any one idea long enough to become a better father.

I can fool myself into believing I am going deep when I was really just splashing around in a shallow pool of meaning. Deep reflection is really just recognition. Life changing transformation is really just inspiration. And I can call it practice when all I really did was hit save on something I will probably never open again. The algorithm doesn’t give an idea room to breathe. It gives me another idea....

and another....

and another.

It may be showing me exactly what I need.

It just has no reason to let me sit with it. And because I never pause long enough to let something sink in, or actually try it, my brain swirls long after I have put my phone or computer down. Now I am playing with my kids while the hamster in my head is frantically running on its wheel never knowing why it is running and definitely never getting anywhere.

Nothing like trying to become a better father,

getting lost in your algorithm,

and then not being present with your kids because you brain is still in hamster mode.

Support: Attention Shapes Who We Become

Discernment seems to require something my feed is not designed to provide:

Silence.

In The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry, John Mark Comer writes, “Continuous partial attention is our new normal.” That describes me more than I would like to admit. I can be listening to my son while also replaying a conversation from yesterday, finalizing my top three toothpaste ingredients, and holding onto an idea my feed told me could change my life. I am paying attention to everything, which means I may not be giving my full attention to anything. Especially the things that matter most, my boys.

Comer later writes, “What you give your attention to is the person you become.” That one still bothers me. Sure, I can accept that I was losing time, that’s why it is called doom-scrolling. What really smacked me around was that even the meaningful stuff was having a say in who I was becoming.

My algorithm is learning what holds my attention,

and at the same time,

what holds my attention is slowly shaping me.

Taking time to pause. To be still. To be silent. To discern. That creates space to notice what is happening inside me. It helps me separate what is merely interesting from what may actually matter.

Maybe the message comes through a sermon…

Or it comes through a conversation…

Or it comes through a 47-second video selected by a frighteningly accurate recommendation system. I’m not sure the delivery method determines whether the message is meaningful. But if I immediately swipe to the next thing, I never have to wrestle with it.

I never have to decide whether I believe it.

I definitely never have to change because of it.

Reset The Urge to Doom-Scroll

The next time something stops me, I want to resist the urge to immediately consume more of it.

My first instinct is to rapidly search for three more versions of the same idea to ensure I don’t get fooled by one looney tune on the internet. Or find every podcast this person has appeared on, download them all, only never to actually listen to them.

Instead, I can pause for one minute.

Put down the phone. Let the idea exist without another one competing with it.

And ask: What is this asking me to notice?

Maybe I write down one sentence. Maybe I realize it was merely interesting. Maybe I recognize something I need to sit with a little longer.

That’s it.

One minute probably won’t provide all the answers. But it might create enough silence to hear the question. I still may not know whether the idea came from a spiritual intervention or my algorithm.

I’m beginning to think the more important question is whether I will pause long enough to listen.

Keep Reading About Fatherhood and Presence

Watching the Birdies: A 5AM Reminder - Creating connection with your kids and nature to be more present in the moment

The Unclaimed Sippy Cup (and other small emergencies) - Slowing down so that you can see the small issue before it becomes a big issue.

The Magnifying Mind - Helping dad’s realize what we focus our mind on because what we magnify.

Am I winning the argument...

or protecting the relationship?

Eric Taylor wasn’t memorable because he always knew the right thing to say.

He was memorable because he kept coming back.

He never let one disagreement become the final conversation.

This week’s fieldwork isn’t about avoiding hard conversations.

It’s about making sure the relationship is still standing when the conversation is over.

This Week’s Fieldwork

1. Pause Before You Respond

This week, notice one moment when your instinct is to correct. Before you do...

• Pause.

• Take one breath.

• Then ask one simple question:

  • “Help me understand what happened.”

You might still need to correct. But seek to understand first.

2. Protect the Relationship

As the conversation unfolds, pay attention to yourself.

• Are you trying to prove a point?

• Win the argument?

• Or help your child feel heard?

Remember...

You can hold a boundary without building a wall.

3. Reopen the Door

After the conversation is over...

Come back.

• Throw a baseball.

• Go for a drive.

• Ask about their day.

• Tell a joke.

• Sit beside them.

Don’t let discipline become the last interaction they remember.

Let them know…

through your actions…

that the relationship never left.

Why It Matters

Kids will disappoint us.

They’ll make choices we don’t understand. They’ll push boundaries, test limits, and sometimes fall short of what we hoped for them.

And if we’re honest...

We’ll disappoint them too. We’ll lose our patience. We’ll say the wrong thing. We’ll miss moments we wish we could get back.

That’s part of growing up…

for them and for us.

The dads our kids remember aren’t the ones who avoided every hard conversation or handled every moment perfectly. They’re the ones who showed up anyway. The ones who stayed steady when things got messy.

The ones who made it safe…

not just to mess up…

but to come back, talk it through, and try again tomorrow.

Closing Reminder

One of the hardest transitions in fatherhood isn’t changing diapers (although it is arguably the most disgusting AND somehow always happens right before you’re supposed to leave the house).

It’s changing roles.

There comes a day when your kids stop needing you to solve every problem. They start solving problems themselves. Sometimes differently than you would. Sometimes poorly. Sometimes in ways that make you stare at the ceiling at 2 a.m. wondering where you went wrong...

or if you should have just bought them a flip phone and called it a day.

And if you’re anything like me, your instinct is to jump back in. Explain. Correct. Protect. Repeat. Maybe throw in a lecture that starts with,

“When I was your age...”

...even though you swore you’d never become that guy.

Because that’s what we’ve spent their whole childhood doing. But the older my boys get, the more I realize something uncomfortable.

The hardest part of fatherhood isn’t our kids making mistakes.

It’s watching them make choices...

that we wouldn’t make ourselves.

In those moments, the greatest challenge is learning how to stay connected while they make their own decisions...

without turning every conversation into a TED Talk they didn’t ask for.

The Character

When most people think of Eric Taylor from Friday Night Lights, they think of football.

The speeches.

“Clear eyes. Full hearts. Can’t lose.”

The way he could challenge young men to become more than they believed they could be. The coach’s stare that could quiet an entire locker room. The halftime speeches that would make me get off the couch and run through a wall for him The one-liners. The quiet confidence.

Many dads have borrowed something from Eric Taylor when coaching a team.

I know I have.

Then I watched the series again after becoming a dad and I realized the greatest coaching challenge Eric Taylor ever faced wasn’t on a football field. It was at home.

Julie.

As a coach, Eric usually knew exactly what to do.

As a dad...

not so much.

Julie wanted independence long before he was ready to give it. She dated people he didn’t approve of. She made decisions he couldn’t understand. They argued. They disappointed each other. They sat in long, uncomfortable silences.

The very qualities that made Eric an exceptional coach sometimes made fatherhood harder. On the football field, authority solved problems.

At home...

it often created them.

And then there was Tami.

More than once, she gently reminded Eric that Julie didn’t need another coach. She needed her dad.

Tami became the bridge.

She challenged Eric when his instinct was to win the argument instead of protect the relationship. She reminded him that being right wasn’t always the same as being helpful. Eric didn’t always listen immediately.

But when he did...

he usually found his way back to Julie.

That’s what stays with me. Not the speeches. The returning.

Eric Taylor wasn’t a perfect father.

He was a returning father.

He never let one disagreement become the final conversation.

In My House

A few weeks ago I was pretty fed up with one of my sons picking on the others. We were about four weeks into summer break. Brotherly relationships were strained. Fuses were short. Yours truly had the shortest one of all.

I had stayed relatively calm as the picking became more frequent. Meaner. Sneakier.

Quick stop: conversations without consequences usually lead to this.

So my radar was on high alert. Any sly remark. Any not-so-nice sound. Any evil laugh. Any one of those earned an extra chore.

It had been a long day.

My wife had finally gotten home.

And I was hiding in the only place my family refuses to interrupt me...

the bathroom.

That’s when I heard it. The laugh. The exact evil laugh we’d talked about. My sacred pooping peace had been violated. I flung the door open, assigned the chore from halfway down the hallway, finished my business, and marched toward him with far more frustration than the situation probably deserved.

Like I said...

my fuse was short.

I rounded the corner already preparing my speech.

That’s when I caught my wife’s eyes. She was trying to tell me something. Honestly, I wanted to ignore her. She couldn’t possibly know what I’d dealt with all day. But there was something about the second look that made me slow down.

Instead of launching into my lecture, I asked one simple question.

“What happened?”

He explained that he and Hunter were actually joking with each other. He even reminded me of one of our own family rules:

“Dad, you always say a joke is only a joke if everyone’s laughing.”

I wasn’t completely convinced. But for once...

I resisted the urge to prove my point. Mainly because my wife gave me the subtle nod that she agreed with what my son was saying.

Later that evening, my wife told me what she’d seen. She had been watching the whole interaction. Hunter was laughing too. She wasn’t trying to keep me from parenting. She was trying to help me see something I hadn’t.

In that moment, she became a little like Tami Taylor.

Not taking sides. Protecting the relationship. Helping me remember that my biggest job wasn’t winning the conversation. It was making sure my boys always wanted to have another one

The Dad Move

Maybe that’s what Eric Taylor understood.

Being right has its place.

Being reachable matters more.

Our kids probably won’t remember every lecture.

They definitely won’t remember every rule.

But they’ll remember whether home felt like a place they could return to.

Whether Dad was someone they could still call.

Whether the door stayed open.

Connection isn’t built by winning every disagreement.

It’s built by protecting the relationship through every disagreement.

And that’s a move worth stealing.

The Reset

The older my boys get, the more convinced I am that influence doesn’t come from saying more.

It comes from staying close enough to be heard.

So this week, I’m taking one question with me:

Am I winning the argument...

or protecting the relationship?

Maybe the reset is simple.

Pause before correcting.

Listen before explaining.

Apologize first if you need to.

Protect the relationship.

Keep the conversation going.

Because one day your kids won’t need you to solve every problem.

But they’ll always need to know they can come home.

Am I creating memories...

or trying to create perfect memories?

Clark believed the memory depended on the plan.

The perfect destination.

The perfect schedule.

The perfect Christmas lights.

Life had other ideas.

This week’s fieldwork isn’t about lowering your expectations. If you want to design the perfect camping trip…

with a color-coded packing list, backup snacks for your backup snacks, and a weather app checked every 12 minutes…

go right ahead (I know I still will).

Just make sure your expectations don’t keep you from enjoying the moment you’re already in…

even when the “perfect plan” involves a broken tent pole, a missing marshmallow bag, and someone asking to go home five minutes after you arrive.

This Week’s Fieldwork

1. Make a Plan

Plan one simple family activity this week.

• Go for a bike ride.

• Roast marshmallows.

• Play catch.

• Visit a park.

Build something. The plan matters. Having something to look forward to is part of the fun.

2. Expect the Unexpected

Before you begin, tell yourself one simple truth: Something probably won’t go according to plan.

• The weather may change.

• Someone may complain.

• Something may break.

• The schedule may shift.

When it happens, don’t treat it like a failure. Treat it like part of the story. Lean into it and make it fun and memorable!

3. Ask One Question

Before the day ends, ask your kids:

What made today memorable?

Listen to what they say. Was it the activity you planned OR was it something unexpected?

• The funny comment.

• The wrong turn.

• The frog by the campfire.

• The impromptu rain dance.

Their answers might surprise you. The memory is often hiding where the plan fell apart.

Why It Matters

As dads, we naturally want to create great experiences for our families.

There’s nothing wrong with that.

The challenge comes when we become so focused on protecting the plan that we stop participating in the moment.

Our kids rarely remember the itinerary.

They remember how it felt to be with us.

Closing Reminder

There are moments in fatherhood when I become strangely attached to an outcome.

The perfect camping trip. The perfect vacation. The perfect Christmas morning. The perfect baseball game. The perfect family photo.

None of those are bad things to hope for.

The problem is that somewhere along the way, I quietly start believing my family’s experience depends on my plan working exactly the way I imagined it.

And when it doesn’t...

I can spend so much energy trying to rescue the day that I forget to enjoy the people I’m trying to create it for.

The Character

No fictional dad commits harder to creating family memories than Clark Griswold.

Every vacation. Every Christmas.

Every family adventure.

He starts with the same vision...

This is going to be unforgettable.

In European Vacation, he gets stuck driving in a loop around London. Every time he circles past Big Ben and Parliament, he lights up like it’s the first time.

“Look kids, Big Ben! Parliament!”

Again. And again. And again. Same landmarks. Same enthusiasm. Same belief that this moment matters.

Or when Clark finally gets his family to Wally World after every possible disaster, only to find the park closed for repairs. He starts to unravel, that crazed look creeping in like everything is about to fall apart.

Or when he decides he needs the most decorated house on the street for Christmas and becomes so focused on it that it feels like his kids won’t have a great Christmas without it.

Ironically...

he’s right.

Just not for the reasons he expected.

Clark believes the memory lives in the plan. If the destination works. If the lights turn on. If everything goes exactly how he pictured it, then the memory will be worth it.

But life keeps interrupting his script.

The car breaks down. The destination disappoints. The lights don’t work. The squirrel gets loose. Nothing goes according to plan. And that’s where most of us lose it.

We lose it. Our kids lose it. Everyone around us loses it.

When the plan falls apart, it feels like the memory is slipping away with it.

But Clark accidentally shows us something else. The memory was never in the plan. It was in the trying. It was in the ridiculous effort. It was in the dad who refused to stop showing up, even when everything was going sideways.

Decades later, families still watch those movies together.

It clearly isn’t because Clark created perfect experiences.

It’s because he created moments people remember.

Real moments where things don’t go perfectly, but dad still shows up.

Moments where the kids groan, the mom eye-rolls, and dad overcompensates with energy, smiles, and ill-timed dad jokes. Underneath all the chaos was a dad who desperately wanted his family to have something special.

His plans failed. His heart rarely did.

In My House

Every summer I build a list and calendar.

Camping trips. Scout adventures. Baseball tournaments. Bike rides. Bonfires. Projects around the house.

I picture all of it in my head...

the conversations, the laughs, the memories we’ll make.

I balance that with our Camp Linne, a Google Classroom experience that helps the boys with summer learning loss. Reading challenges through the library. Khan Academy for math. Writing prompts. Special missions like fire building, bike trips, and LEGO challenges that help them achieve the next Boy Scout rank. Throw in some typing practice for good measure.

Thirty to forty-five minutes of work daily, perfectly aligned with our swim meet schedule, camping weekends, and summer vacations.

When perfectly implemented, they will learn new skills academically, experience new challenges, and have trips to remember for a lifetime.

Parents applaud me.

The kids generally don’t complain.

And I feel like the amazing dad who can plan for it all.

Reality usually has other ideas. Someone gets sick. It rains. A game gets canceled. Someone is tired. Someone argues. The burgers burn. The mosquitoes show up before the marshmallows do.

And if I’m not careful, I can spend the entire evening trying to fix what went wrong instead of noticing what’s still going right.

Sometimes by rescheduling the learning for that day. Sometimes by begrudgingly telling them they can skip it. Almost always getting a look from my wife that implies I should take a breath and let my Clark Griswold mind take a break.

I’ve caught myself thinking, “This wasn’t how today was supposed to go.”

The boys, meanwhile...

are catching frogs.

Laughing at something completely unrelated.

Turning sticks into swords.

Making memories I never planned.

Most of the time, I’m the only one disappointed.

The Dad Move

Maybe that’s what Clark Griswold teaches me. Our kids are rarely chasing perfection.

They’re chasing fun, love, and connectedness.

The memory isn’t the laundry list of things they were able to see or do.

It’s how the seemingly mundane moments made them feel...

The joke everyone laughed at but no one can remember

The rainstorm that ruined dinner but inspired an impromptu rain dance.

The wrong turn that became an emergency pit stop at a gas station with the best tacos.

Sometimes the story worth remembering is the one that happened when the plan completely fell apart...

and dad chose to stay present long enough to enjoy it anyway.

The Reset

The older my boys get, the more I realize I don’t have nearly as much control as I think I do.

Weather changes.

Schedules change.

Kids change.

Plans change.

That’s life.

So this week, I’m taking one question with me:

Am I creating memories...

or trying to create perfect memories?

And maybe the reset is simple.

Hold the schedule loosely.

Laugh a little sooner.

Pivot a little faster.

Notice what’s still good.

Because the story your kids tell years from now...

probably won’t be the one you spent all day trying to protect.

It’ll be the one you never saw coming.

Am I present...

or participating?

Bandit doesn’t create connection because he has endless energy or incredible imagination. He creates connection because he’s willing to enter the world his kids have already created. You can read more about it below.

This week’s fieldwork isn’t about planning an elaborate family activity.

It’s about joining one that’s already happening.

This Week’s Fieldwork

1. Notice Their World

Before you suggest a game or activity, spend a few minutes simply observing.

• What are they building?

• What are they pretending?

• What are they talking about?

• What has captured their attention?

Resist the urge to redirect. Just notice.

2. Ask One Simple Question

Instead of taking over, ask:

“Alright... what’s my role?”

Let them decide.

• Maybe you’re the dragon.

• Maybe you’re the customer.

• Maybe you’re the villain.

• Maybe you’re just the guy who has to keep trading Lego creations every five minutes.

Don’t worry about understanding the game. Your job isn’t to improve it. It’s to enter it.

3. Stay Five Minutes Longer

When you’re ready to move on...

Don’t. Stay five more minutes. Those extra moments often become the ones your kids remember most. Not because the game was extraordinary. Because you were fully there.

Why It Matters

Kids invite us into their world every day.

Sometimes with words. Sometimes with toys. Sometimes with stories that seem to go nowhere. Sometimes with games that make absolutely no sense.

Those invitations are easy to miss because they rarely look important in the moment. Connection is rarely built during grand gestures. More often, it’s built in five extra minutes on the living room floor.

Closing Reminder