This morning on our walk, Dakota pointed at a bird like it was the first one she'd ever seen. I smiled and pointed too. For a few minutes, we just walked like that … slowing down, noticing everything that was moving or making noise. And somewhere between her giggles, I thought to myself that these are the good ol' days.
We usually head out before 8:00am, before the thick southern heat turns our shirts into a soaked mess. If you’ve spent any time in the South during the summer, you know the feeling.
Our little country town has no street lights. It’s the kind of place where people still walk down the middle of Main Street and wave. We pass by a Baptist or Southern Methodist church every other block, and sometimes hear our cranky neighbors yelling at each other across the yard. Lately, Dakota's been pointing at everything … squirrels, birds, the neighbor's tiny Chihuahua whose bark is way too big for its body … and I find myself smiling, trying to make sense of what she sees through her eyes.
These moments are what I missed with Payton. I was deployed to Afghanistan during her first year and didn't get back until she was over 6 months old. This time around, I get to see the smiles, the firsts, the chaos, the giggles. I get to watch Dakota discover that mashed bananas and avocados are apparently the funniest thing in the world, and I get to play with the same toy 47 times in a row because that's what elevates her little, perfect dimples.
I can't help but think these are the good ol' days. The days you don't typically realize you were in until later.
But I think I'm realizing it now, while I'm in them. The slowness of my life the last 9 months is giving me that gift, and it makes this moment in my journey feel sacred in a way I wasn't expecting.
Somewhere between the walks and the mashed fruit, I started writing more. Mostly reflecting, trying my best to capture the moments and thoughts I don't want to lose ... to create a record of my life for my kids. What started as private pages in my leather-bound journal is slowly morphing into something a bit more public … my own corner of the internet where I can process life as it's happening. To share more often with my family and friends of what I'm up to as I explore the world of being a new Dad all over again.
The shift from writing for myself to writing for others feels vulnerable in a way that has surprised me. But maybe that's part of the slowing down and paying attention more … being willing to let people see the messiness of figuring things out.
“The hustle has simply shifted. It's less about proving, and more about protecting.”
For years, I was constantly chasing the next promotion, the next big move, the next proof that I was heading somewhere important. Now I find myself saying no to opportunities that would have excited me a few years ago, not because they're bad, but because they don't fit the intentionality of the season I find myself in. The hustle has simply shifted. It's less about proving, and more about protecting. Protecting my energy for those morning walks. My attention for Dakota's bedtime routine. My evenings for conversations with Felicia that don't revolve around whose turn it is to change Dakota's "stinky binky".
That doesn't mean I'm not pursuing individual goals and passions, or pushing myself to achieve meaningful results in those areas, but rather that I'm more selective of what qualifies ... and I'm more than okay with that.
I know this isn't the kind of exciting stuff that gets giant applauses, but it's everything to me.
And so I think what I'm learning is to embrace the chapter I’m in, whether or not it feels like the most important one, or the most ideal. To allow myself to feel the moment I’m in, before it becomes another memory. Maybe that’s the real challenge of this life … to find that balance in our days, where the world slows and you feel more of the emotions. To sit with it, even if that is only just a few moments.
I think that's what I'm most proud of these days. Being a dad, a husband, a man in the messy middle of it all, and still showing up with a smile on my face. Not perfectly, but consistently. And maybe that's what the good ol' days really are all about … not the big moments but the ordinary daily ones we're actually living.
I’m just glad I’m paying attention during this part of the story.