Sometimes—and I mean sometimes—child support can be used in a way that actually keeps good fathers from fully showing up for their kids.

When you’re in your 40s or 50s—I’m 43—news of your childhood heroes passing starts to hit a little different.

Sometimes I wake up and ask myself if I’ve gone soft.

Just saw the new Superman movie, and here’s the truth: it was good—but nothing more. For all the hype, it felt like DC was once again in a hurry, trying to fast-track emotional investment without doing the work to earn it.

Pickleball is a growing sport in America right now. Seems like everybody’s uncle or their mom or their grandpa plays it. They take over every tennis court they can find, and they are everywhere.

Let me be clear: I don’t think a loser is someone who fails. I don’t think a coward is someone who misses the mark. Failing on a commitment, making a bad call, falling short—those are all part of being human. I’ve done all of that. So have you. And none of it disqualifies someone from being respected, trusted, or counted on. If anything, those moments are what build real character—if they’re handled the right way.

When we talk about forgiveness, we often think of it in terms of other people—releasing anger toward someone who wronged us, letting go of resentment, or choosing not to seek revenge. But today, I want to offer something else entirely.

It’s hard to even open your phone these days without seeing someone outraged, someone protesting, someone pointing fingers. It’s like the entire world is caught in a loop of comparison, bitterness, and blame.

This is something I believe with my whole heart: You can have the life you want.

A lot of high-performing men—driven, passionate, creative, principled—fight a fight few people see.

I’m an American living in North Idaho—just a regular guy, plugged into the same Internet, same social media feeds, and the same nonstop headlines as everyone else. And like many of you, I kept hearing about this thing going on in Israel—something about Palestinians, Iran, Gaza, Hezbollah, and a bunch of other terms that honestly just flew over my head for years.

You’d think elderly people would be more aware of the time they have left—the perfect time to let go of conditions and expectations, to love without restraint. It’s hard to witness when the older generation holds on to resentment or imagination, especially when time is nearly up. That lack of awareness is disheartening.

By a Lifelong Bills Fan

There was a time—at least it felt that way—when supporting the President of the United States didn’t define your identity. It didn’t make you a villain. It didn’t get you labeled, canceled, or accused. You could disagree with policies, sure—but you still hoped the person in office would do well, because their success was tied to all of ours.

Recently, we attended a very expensive, big, elaborate summit in our local area—an event promoted heavily by celebrities, influencers, and a lineup of “very important people.” We spent thousands of dollars to be there, including premium passes, and all the extras that supposedly make these events “life-changing.” The event was multi-day, high-production, and filled with speeches, networking, and theatrics. We stayed for about four hours.

Sometimes I sit back and think about all the things I’ve said and written over the years. The thoughts I’ve shared, the stances I’ve held, the moments where I believed—wholeheartedly—in something I no longer do. And in the age of social media, those moments don’t just fade away like they used to. They’re stored. Archived. Screen-captured. Time-stamped. They live in servers and clouds, waiting to be dragged out again—sometimes years, even decades later.

This morning, I woke up with a lot on my plate. Meetings, deadlines, edits, client calls, production schedules—the usual weight of responsibility that comes with running a business. I started to feel the early signs of stress creep in, like they sometimes do. But then, as I stood in the kitchen gathering my things, my five-year-old wrapped her arms around me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Right after that, Sarah handed me a packed lunch, smiled, and told me I was handsome.

Imagine stepping outside into a public area and taking a shit on the sidewalk—right there, in front of everyone. Naturally, people around would react with shock, disgust, maybe even anger. That would be expected.

Every now and then, in my area, I start getting marketed to on social media about some big event coming to town—usually featuring a handful of famous people preparing to hold a conference where they’re going to tell us “normal folks” a thing or two.

I was scrolling through social media the other day and came across one of those videos that just stops you. A content creator walks into a diner, orders a coffee, chats with the server—and then leaves a $500 tip.

We live in a world that loves drawing hard lines between what’s good and what’s bad for you. Whether it’s alcohol, gambling, swearing, or simply indulging in life’s finer pleasures—society often sorts them into a basket labeled danger and issues sweeping warnings for all. But what if those labels aren’t the whole story?

A letter from Dad

Let me paint a scene. I’m walking through a park, alone. I’m not in the best mood—just working through life like everyone else. Maybe it’s business. Maybe it’s home. Maybe it’s just one of those days. My face is stern, not inviting. Not mean, just… internal. A bit distant. Maybe even cold.

Today I came across a social media clip from Barstool—a brand known for its casual, often light-hearted content. In this particular video, employees were being asked a simple trivia question: Which country has the most doctors per capita?

June is here, and with it comes the forced fanfare of what we now call “Pride Month.” It’s the annual cycle where society is expected—no, required—to turn its eyes toward a specific community: the LGBTQ+, etc., etc., and act like celebration is the same thing as tolerance. It isn’t. And I’m done pretending otherwise.