Notes from the Sideline

Harvey gets it. This morning, I found him sitting peacefully on the step, surrounded by all his favorite toys. No stress. No shame. Just enjoying the little things that make his day better. And honestly? It was a reminder I needed. Do something today your future self will thank you for. It doesn’t have to be big. Sometimes it’s just gathering the things that bring you comfort. Taking a deep breath. Slowing down. Choosing joy—even in small, simple ways. Your future self isn’t asking for perfection. They’re just hoping you’ll show up—with grace, with intention, maybe even with a squeaky toy or two nearby. So take the walk. Call the friend. Rest without guilt. Or do what Harvey did: Find your quiet spot and surround yourself with what makes you feel good. Because those little choices today? They become the peace, strength, and joy you’ll thank yourself for tomorrow.

I used to think middle age was 50. That’s what they say, right? Halfway there. But if most of us won’t see 90… middle age isn’t 50. It’s more like 37, 38 if you’re lucky. That hits different. And I’m not sharing this to be morbid. I’m sharing it because some of us are still living like we have all the time in the world. We say, “I’ll slow down next year.” “I’ll travel when things settle.” “I’ll rest when I retire.” We work ourselves into exhaustion and hand over our best years to jobs that would replace us in five business days. We defer joy. We shelf the dreams. We tell ourselves we’re being responsible. And maybe we are. But one day, the calendar gets quiet. The kids move out. The office keycard stops working. The house doesn’t feel as full. And that “someday” we were saving everything for… doesn’t feel the same anymore. I’ve been thinking about that more lately—especially in the quiet evenings with Melanie. We’ve started naming the things we still want to do—not the big flashy stuff...

Bear sat next to me this morning—head up, tongue out, giving me one of his classic, unapologetically joyful smiles. We were just having coffee. Nothing special. No big moment. Just him. Just me. Just the kind of peace that sneaks in when you’re not performing for anyone. And it got me thinking: How often do we overlook the quiet joy of just being ourselves? We spend so much time trying to impress, to prove, to keep up. Trying to be more polished, more productive, more whatever the world seems to expect that day. But Bear wasn’t doing any of that. He wasn’t worried about being better. He wasn’t comparing his morning to anyone else’s. He was just… happy to be here. And maybe that’s what we’ve forgotten: That peace doesn’t come from being more. It comes from being honest. With who we are. With where we are. With what we truly need. There’s nothing wrong with ambition—but don’t let it convince you that your worth is always somewhere out ahead of you. Because sometimes, joy look...