Years ago, when Sarah and I first met, we were in that place I’m sure many of you have known.

Everything was perfect.

Colors were brighter. Sounds were richer. Mistakes and misunderstandings were few. The word argument was still a foreign word.

During those early days, I took one of my trips to visit my brother and the property in Oregon. I love the solitude of that drive and the way the road completely unplugs me from my work.

It becomes a kind of driving meditation.

Time slows down as the road comes toward me.

My body settles.

My mind quiets.

My strength and resolve return.

💿

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.