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Week 18: The 3-Year Anniversary of the Week that Changed It All

After the 5-day beating (or was it 6 days?) that was Thanksgiving, it’s time to take stock.

Last week my missive slanted rather negatively, and while I certainly don’t apologize for it, it does seem insensitive to dwell on my petty problems when I have so much to be thankful for.

When the pandemic hit in March 2020, I was a lost soul. I was a shell of myself.

Unhealthy in body, mind, and soul. I was fading quietly into the night, erasing myself from everything I loved.

In April, we found out Jacqueline was pregnant with our second child.

A couple weeks later, while nursing an acute hangover and after scolding my son for playing with his blocks too loudly, I finally had that moment in the mirror.

The one when you finally see the truth, however painful it may be.

I stood there staring at what was left of my reflection, utterly shattered.

I thought to myself, “Is this what you were going for? Is this the person you wanted to become? This monster?”

It’s jarring to realize you’ve become the worst version of yourself.

But much like Ebeneezer Scrooge realizes on Christmas Day, it’s empowering to realize it’s not too late.

I quit drinking that day, forever.

There was also the first run in almost two years, although I hesitate to call it a run.

It was slow. It was painful.

But it was also Day 1, which meant there could be a Day 2.

Each day after that, I got a little better. A little healthier. A little more resilient, and a little more removed from my problems.

I learned to accept help from others. I finally learned to subjugate a toxic ego that had held me back for so long.

And I learned that discipline equals freedom.

A few months later, our second son was born, which was amazing.

Eight days after that, my father passed away, which sucked.

I’m certainly not special in this aspect, but the death of my father affected me greatly, but not in the ways I expected.

I was sad of course; my father was a cool guy. Even though we didn’t always understand each other, there was love throughout our relationship and I feel fortunate to have called him Dad.

But then something else happened.

In the hills of Kentucky while driving home from his funeral, I was lost in thought. It was a cold, clear day. The radio was off and as many do when life events happen, I was trying to process what happens next.

I started thinking of all the stuff I said I was going to do, but wasn’t doing. You know, bucket list type stuff.

All of a sudden, the ticking of the clock seemed like a deafening roar.

While still sad, the death of my father galvanized me to get off my ass.

My fears of failure, of being rejected, and of being found wanting faded away and were replaced by familiar feelings from my younger days.

Hunger. Desire. Ambition.

And one more thing to tie it all together: resolve.

By the time I pulled in my driveway a few hours later, I was clearer on what I wanted and why than ever before in my life.

I’d lost my father but found myself.

Yesterday, that second son turned three years old. My life has become richer, happier, and more fulfilled since that day.

Basking in the smile of that sweet and precocious little boy, any angst about work, life, bills, and a stupid midlife crisis of ultrarunning faded away.

And became a memory I’ll treasure for the rest of my days.

“Man is free the moment he wishes to be.” – Voltaire

Live triumphantly. See you next week.