Be the Adult

To my new friend, Laura. I've read enough to know that for whatever reason, when humans aren't face to face, there's some element of anonymity that causes people to veer toward greater disclosure. Try it with your kid! After a day of battling over house rule violations, computer time, or why they can't just bring down their dirty laundry, just lay side by side 30 minutes before lights-out. Suddenly, you learn about how their day really went, hopes and fears, and simple, enjoyable conversation. I experienced a stunning version of this recently on a weekend trail run. I was in the back seat of my car (with the passenger seat jammed all the way forward, it's a spacious changing room) switching into my trail shoes when I felt someone looking at me from the parking lot. She just stood there, patiently. While a little strange, I figured she was going to tell me my tire was going flat or something as I exited the car. "Nice shirt." Huh? "Nice shi...

Click, knock, knock, click. Turn down the radio. Time to concentrate. What exactly is happening here? Oh, that's the unmistakable sound of a socket rolling around in my Honda's cylinder head. I pushed just a tiny but too hard, forced the spark plug further into the socket, pushing out the extension and leaving a half-pound of metal behind that had to be removed in order for the car to function. This has happened before; dropping a bolt from an oil line into the guts of a Kawasaki (magnetic, thank God), or the time I realized I mixed up two bolts on a BMW oil filter housing that took about five hours to remove, repair, and replace. The replay took about 2 hours. Or the time I forgot to put a pilot bearing in the tail of my '66 GTO's crankshaft on a clutch replacement. Holy cow, was that a disaster. This. This is the sound of rework. This is the sound of calling a tow truck in utter humiliation as your repair gets repaired by an actual expert. I'm totally kiddi...

A whole bunch of paradigms shifted tonight. A fun-loving neighbor turned into the Chair of Foreign Language for our local middle school. People I only know through socializing as adults (Ragnar, Soccer, Running) are suddenly sitting in the bleachers with me learning about elective courses and locker assignments. I have no clue who their kids were, how old they are, or that the woman sitting next to them was their spouse. Apparently their kids are also rolling into 7th grade next year. Oh, man. I remember the morning after my wedding I accidentally banged my wedding band against the glass of my car window. What was that? Oh, that! Married! It was so novel. Even the word felt funny when I associated it with me. Then, the kids showed up. Same thing- leaving the car seat on the roof, driving off... just kidding. I can't remember much about those first few years, but I remember that feeling of, "Oh my god- I'm a parent! Now I need to keep some kids alive for 18 years. ......

When I was a little baby sailor in the Nuclear Power Program, one of the first principles drilled into my head from Day 1 was that of Integrity. Doing the right thing when no one is looking. Questioning your own bias and motivation before giving an order. Insisting on engineering excellence. Question everything. It was the cornerstone of the program, and with it the United States Navy could give a bunch of twenty-somethings the keys to a nuclear power plant. It was an awesome responsibility; one that none of us took lightly, but shoot- we were just a bunch of fun loving, globetrotting kids. We partied like rock stars, but also took college classes, cross pollinated American culture with new friends around the globe, and most importantly, maintained the safe operation of hundreds of nuclear power plants around the world. Fast forward twenty years, and I feel like the culture of excellence is drifting away. Or, perhaps it only exists in defense and medicine because the stakes are h...

Meet your new therapist. The world has changed so much over the last few years- With the advent of free texting and unlimited data, there are so many time vampires it’s not even funny. 6:00 a.m.: Get up early to get a jump on the day 6:01 a.m.: Open laptop and wait for it to boot 6:03 a.m.: Check Facebook on phone 6:15 a.m.: After catching up with whatever happened in Guam, Australia, and Japan while I was sleeping, look at the BBC and Guardian for real news 6:40 a.m.: The real news has now sent me down a rabbit hole to fake news 6:50 a.m.: Get disgusted with fake news, look for something inspiring to read to get my brain back on track 7:00 a.m.: Crap- kids are awake. Why did I get up early again? Evenings often go the same way, but I end up reading about Corvairs, Supreme Court justices of the Civil Rights and Roe v. Wade era, or the evolution of railroads from the Civil War through 1963 (outdated books predicting a future that didn’t happen fascinate me)...

...it may just take some massive realignment by the industry. When I was in first or second grade, I saw an ad similar to the title photo and it changed my life. I don't think I knew a single person who owned a motorcycle, let alone a 'Kawaski' (the Polish pronunciation), but I knew I wanted one. That same summer, my next door neighbors (you know the ones- Alice Cooper turned up to 11, beads in their doorway, a KISS mirror on the wall, incense going all the time- it was the 70s, after all) had a friend stay with them for a few days who owned a Honda 400. I sat on the curb in front of their house every day that bike was there. Memorized the tire tread. Burned myself on the hot pipes. Studied the levers and cables and tried to understand how it all worked. As I grew up, the memory didn't turn to passion, but it didn't fade, either. Fast forward about 30 years... Like many people with kids, I started having motorcycle dreams. I'd wake up with the exhilarat...

Killer life or couch-ridden exhaustion? Your call. As I wind down one of the toughest projects of my career, I find myself thinking of two things: I work entirely too many hours, and I miraculously have a pretty decent quality of life. I put my kids to bed at night, go running with friends, take the motorcycle or bicycle out on weekends, and generally keep the momentum up. Here's the breakdown: Early morning: Get up early as hell to go running and get kids out the door Morning, Afternoon, Early Evening: Work, work, work Evening: Dinner, hang out with kids for an hour, walk the dog 10:00 PM: Freedom! Quiet! Work panic notwithstanding, here's the free time. Weekends are better, but I only assume 10 hours per day of 'free' activity, since there are planes to catch, bills to pay, and dance recitals, softball/baseball games, and birthday parties. So... many... birthdays... I'm at Target almost every weekend buying some Journey Girl thing or Lego set to celebra...