Running Schedule

Last month I chose to train for a marathon. Today I made a running schedule for the next 4 weeks and I’ve made a vow to stick to it.

The schedule is simple: run three days in a row, take a day off, repeat. I’ll also be lifting and doing yoga, but the running part will be most of my energy expenditure.

I’ve tried committing to schedules before and it never really works. So have you. This time I decided to make a vow to myself, a deep and intentional promise that I will not break. Exceptions are not welcome.

I want to finally become a man of my word. I want to set out on a mission and complete it, not just design it. Consistency and grit will be my guiding stars. I’m going to treat this like I treated my Division 1 athletic career – I ran whether I felt like it or not.

I’m getting back on the horse. This running schedule will become second nature, and soon I’ll be the runner I always dreamed I could be.

Or I’ll fail. In that case, I’ll get back up and keep going.

Graduation

I’ve studied for 16 years to get to this point: college graduation. My entry way to the real world. Permission to use what I’ve learned and make life better for everyone.

I’ve studied for 16 years to realize I don’t need anybody else to give me permission to live my life. I can give myself permission, and I could have all along.

I’m deeply grateful for my education, but I’m more grateful for my love of learning. That’s more powerful than a piece of paper. That’s more enduring than a commencement address.

To the Class of 2020: you don’t need a commencement to make change happen. You just need courage, conviction, and the desire to learn. The rest will unfold when you give yourself permission.

Too much meaning

Søren Kirkegaard was a 19th century philosopher. He thought about death a lot, then he died abruptly at the age of 42. He believed humans need a sense of meaning to live a happy life. But he also knew that having too much meaning was crippling.

Fr. McNally once told me that if I want to make an impact, I shouldn’t try to make an impact.

Life is a duality and life is a balance. You and I both want our lives to be meaningful. We want to have lived for something, and we don’t want to be forgotten.

But if our lives mean too much, if we’re too important, then that sucks the fun out of it. Being serious helpful at times but mostly a trap. Living is for love, laughter, and happiness, not existential angst over whether or not we’re doing enough to bear the burdens of humanity.

If you want to live a meaningful life, don’t get caught up in meaning. If you want to make an impact, don’t try to make an impact. Live and learn and love and grow. And don’t forget to laugh.

I want a small life

Not a big one or one that’s filled with stuff. Forget making a difference or impact; I want to make art and leave it at that.

Everybody wants to help, but nobody asks who wants it. So we create problems and pay other people to solve them.

A good life is a small life where my house is in order. Your life isn’t my life, so I’ll stay in my corner.

Think small and be small, I’m not trying to show off. Because when the show turns off what’s left is what’s right here.

Sometimes people die

And you don’t feel like writing a blog post. You just want to remind everybody to be grateful for every moment. You never know when your friends will die.

A sad essay

I have to write a final exam essay for my Food in American History course. I chose to write about how industrialization of the food system has created separation between people and their food. We’re allowed to use our class notes and readings, but no outside sources.

Luckily, I take good notes and weaving in the key themes of the course will be seamless. Unfortunately, my notes are so good that I vividly remember every lecture, every discussion, and every emotion.

That means I’ve been remembering all those good classes on campus in January and February. And all the not-so-good ones from March to April. My note taking superpower has become my kryptonite, and this is essay, as the kids say, has me in my bag.

Spring of 2020 hasn’t been easy. Not for anybody. Surely one day we’ll look back and feel some emotions. Hopefully, though, we’ll be able to identify key themes and significant moments, both as a collective and as individuals.

Maybe we’ll see that this was just one bad paragraph in a powerful, meaningful essay. A paragraph that was hard to get through, but critical to the development of following section.

Evidence

Don’t take their word for it. Evidence is dicey.

I’m finishing up final assignments for my Christianity and Evidence course. We’ve spent a lot of time talking about what constitutes evidence. One thing that’s certain is that it’s rarely clear.

Episode #1366 of the Joe Rogan Experience was an interview with Richard Dawkins. During the interview, Dawkins, a staunch atheist, suggested that scholars claim Jesus was a real person, but that “the evidence is not great, of course.” The conversation then went into whether or not Jesus was who he said he was.

I’m wondering what constitutes great evidence for Dawkins. No individual in the first century is better documented–both by people who knew him and those who didn’t. It can be argued that no individual had a greater impact on the world, but that’s not good enough?

Unfortunately, evidence is rather subjective. There are data pieces, and those data pieces must be interpreted. Who does the interpreting matters.

You should do the interpreting. You should learn how to read publications in philosophy and chemistry and economics. Learn the basics of each industry and learn how the professionals operate. Then do your own interpreting.

But you don’t have time for that. That’s why we have experts. But an expert in evolutionary biology isn’t an expert in the philosophy of religion. Or religion. Or the historical assessment of literature.

So if Richard Dawkins suggests the evidence isn’t great, do your own digging. You’ll never be the most expert, but if it matters to you, make sure you don’t just take somebody’s word for it.

“Don’t worry”

Saying this never helps. It’s like saying, “don’t drown,” to a drowning person. At least, that’s what it feels like.

There’s a lot of variations. Somebody might quote the bible or tell a story about their friend. Though they come from care, they’re mostly insufficient.

Here’s my $0.02: don’t tell people to stop worrying. Instead, let them worry. Be by there side as they worry, and soon they will realize that worrying doesn’t help much.

If you get frustrated at somebody who says, “don’t worry,” have empathy for them. They want to help, but they didn’t know any better. They’re not a professional lifeguard; they’re doing their best, just like you.

Patience. Presence. Forgiveness. Empathy. Compassion. Repeat. We’re all doing our best to heal.

Hey Aaron! Be Grateful!

This is a reminder to myself. Now, when I scroll through my blog over the next 80 years, I’ll see this post and remember: Be Grateful.

The older I get the more I hear about gratitude. A lot of smart people say it’s the ultimate human disposition, the pinnacle of human expression. Fr. Brendan Lally, a Jesuit at Saint Joseph’s, says that a grateful heart cannot sin. To “sin” means to fall short of all that you could be. Gratitude helps you align with your fullness.

So future Aaron, if you’re reading this, stop what you’re doing and be grateful. A moment is all it takes. Breathe in. Feel it. Let it go. Let it overcome you. Gratitude in this moment and the moments to come.

Cheers.

Action begets momentum

Starting is the hardest part of every journey. We all know it. Whether the journey is a 10 mile run or applying to graduate school, the greatest barriers exist before the starting line.

These are the greatest barriers, but this doesn’t mean they’re the biggest. They’re the greatest because you have no momentum behind you, no wind at your back.

Imagine standing in front of a 6 foot fence and trying to jump over it. You’ll have to pull and grip and hurl yourself over from a standing start.

Now think of that same jump, but approached with a head of steam. You come in at an angle and use your momentum to carry you over the fence, maybe with a little extra effort.

This is called the high jump, and it’s rarely performed from a standstill. Jumpers always get an approach.

I could provide more examples, but you get the point. You have to start. You have to begin moving, even if it’s small steps. The more you move, the more momentum you build and the easier it is to jump over the hurdles.

Action begets momentum. The obstacles down the road don’t matter unless you overcome the one at the start: the start itself. Once you get moving, you’d be surprised at what you can jump over.