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One of my favorite albums by The Who is Face Dances.

It was their first album without their longtime drummer, Keith Moon. The Who, like many bands of that era, were incredibly tight-knit. They wrote their songs, sang their backing vocals, and created their music together. Losing a member like Keith wasn't only a tragedy. It threatened the artistic chemistry of the whole band.

So when Face Dances came out with a different drummer, it had a different feel.

Different energy.

Something was different.

I was anxious and hesitant. Could they pull it off without the raging, almost violent energy of Keith Moon on the drums?

My youngest daughter, Ceci, turns 18 very soon.

It has been fun watching her mature these last few years.

From learning to drive—I lost a little bit of hair there.

To becoming a very accomplished water polo player in high school.

To graduating with honors and distinction.

To finding her own way into life's next chapter.

Both of Sarah's daughters are fantastic. They're like little pictures of Sarah's personality—still unfolding their own wings, learning to fly, but unmistakably shaped by the nature and nurture of their mom.

So they're very easy to love..

I was recently up visiting my brother Tom, and we took the boat out on the Columbia River, somewhere between Oregon and Vancouver, Washington.

It was midweek, so we had a lot of quiet on the river.

We pulled up to a little island in the middle of the Columbia, set out a couple of camp chairs and just sat.

Tom and I.

Hanging out.

Being quiet.

And if you know either Tom or me, you know that’s a rare state for us.

But it felt so good.

It was probably the closest thing to being completely unplugged that I’d experienced on the whole trip.

Years ago, I was on a cruise.

It was a lot of fun, but by the time we docked in Cozumel, Mexico, I’d had enough of the big tourist excursions with lots of people.

I just wanted to get away.

So I disembarked and found this local guy to take me to a place called Chankanaab, a national park in Mexico.

Sure. Amazing. Let’s go.

It was magical.

Private. Quiet. Serene. Beautiful.

There it was. 1977.

Denver, Colorado.

Dad and me on a business trip. Wow!

I was eight years old.

Dad was considering taking a job in Colorado and moving the family from Southern California.

Somehow, I scored a father-son trip with him to check out the company.

Did I feel special?

You bet I did!

My brother Tom, his fiancée, and I were sitting around talking about the state of the world.

And the scarcity of resources.

I think you can imagine how some of the conversation went.

We were talking about how hard it can be for a young couple or family to get established and begin building a life.

For some reason, there's an imprint in my mind of the way I used to look.

I close my eyes and there I am.

Youth.

Vitality.

Vigor.

Maybe everything but wisdom.

Then I stand in front of the mirror one morning and think,

"This is not my beautiful face. This is not my smooth skin. This is not my hairline."

I was sitting outside having my breakfast one morning. As many of you know, I love my oatmeal.

For some reason that morning, when I was preparing it, I counted all the different things that went into it. There were nine different ingredients! A world of flavors for the palate.

I decided to eat outside that morning. It was cool enough, and there was shade. I wanted to just be in nature.

Before I ate, I offered a little food prayer, one that my dear friend Arun taught me.

Sarah and I had to say goodbye to our sweet dog Moo Moo the other day.

It’s a deeply emotional experience.

You don’t realize how much presence someone carries until that presence is gone.

When we came home from the vet, we opened the front door and, and for just a moment, expected to see our giant white husky standing there, tail wagging, ready for another walk.

We've all heard the phrase, "I've got it down pat."

I wanted to research that a little bit, but before I even jumped on a computer—before I let someone else tell me what it meant—I wanted to drop some notes on what I thought it meant.

I think the first time I came across that statement was when I was seriously involved in playing the drums.

Watching my father age, sometimes with grace and sometimes with challenge, has been an education I never expected to receive.

The truth is, watching someone we love grow older can be difficult.

Not only because we see their life changing, but because somewhere deep inside we are reminded that someday ours will too.

And I think that fear can cause us to look away.

I've been reflecting on my life these past few months and noticing just how little is actually predictable.

Sometimes that realization feels exhilarating.

Other times it can be downright frightening.

For nearly three decades, my career has been built around living in the unknown. Every morning I wake up not knowing what computer crisis, server failure, or emergency I'll be stepping into.

I was always fascinated by the old Hollywood stories.

The legend goes that Lana Turner was discovered sitting in a malt shop and by the next day she was a star. One moment anonymous. The next moment center stage.

But another theater tradition captured my imagination even more: the understudy.

As a kid, I was fascinated with juggling.

There were so many different things you could juggle. Balls, clubs, knives, even fire—which, of course, was my favorite. But what really captured my imagination was trying to juggle things that weren't the same.

Rubber balls and eggs for example.

One would bounce if I dropped it.
The other...well...Mom would not be very happy with me.

And she wasn't - but she indulged her boy that was always exploring the limits of what he could do.

There's an old saying: Walk a mile in my shoes.

And I think there's a lot of soul in that statement. Get it?

Recently, I've had to recognize that many of my attempts to understand a situation have been through the lens of my own experience rather than through the lens of the person I'm trying to understand.

Most of us want our feelings validated.

We want our experiences acknowledged.

We want to be seen.

But sometimes the invitation is to step outside of our own experience and place our feet firmly in the shoes of another.

People often tell me:

"Danny... when they made you, they broke the mold."

Well, I’m here to tell you... they didn’t break the mold.

Apparently they used it again.

I love my brother Tom. He’s twelve years younger than me, and I’ve known him for about sixteen years.

Now some of you may be doing the math right now with raised eyebrows thinking:

"Wait... what’s the story there???"

A Duck-Tale

The other morning Sarah and I got up, made our coffee, and looked out the window toward the backyard.

There, floating in our pool, was a little duck family.

How cute.

There was the handsome-looking mallard duck with his deep shades of green. You all know I’m a little partial to the animal kingdom. A peacock with all its colors and plumes, a mallard with its beautiful shades of green...

Why can’t I wear clothes like that?

Making mistakes is human.

Give me a break… give me a break.

And instead of breaking off a piece of that Kit Kat bar, maybe we break off a piece of compassion for ourselves when we make mistakes.

Perhaps we realize that sometimes the only way to learn something more deeply… is to trip, stumble, and fall.