Earlier this week I asked a question here about my son’s behavior, and I wanted to reflect on it now that I’ve had some space. What I’m realizing is that it isn’t just “bad behavior.” It’s a storm of things coming together. His actions, his emotional regulation, the way excitement can tip him past the point of self-control, our expectations as parents, and the explanation we hear a lot: “I wasn’t thinking.” And here’s where I’m landing. “I wasn’t thinking” can be an explanation, but it can’t be the end of the conversation. It isn’t an excuse. At first, it feels like progress just getting to that awareness. Okay, we know this happens when you’re overstimulated or overly excited. But the next step matters. The next step is asking why the situation got there in the first place. Why were you in that position? Why were you close enough, involved enough, unchecked enough for this to happen? Those questions are harder to answer, especially when shame shows up. I can see that in him. He feels bad. But I’d rather him sit with a little discomfort around honesty now, if it helps him build awareness and do better next time. This hits close to home for me. I was diagnosed with ADHD young. I’ve been medicated, unmedicated, all of it. I don’t love making it a defining identity, even though I recognize it shapes how my brain works. I actually believe it can be a strength when you build the right systems around it. What I’ve always struggled with is when it’s used as an excuse instead of an explanation. Saying “I can’t do this because I have ADHD” feels very different to me than saying “This takes me longer, and here’s how my process works.” One avoids responsibility. The other owns it. I see the same tension with my son. I understand “I wasn’t thinking.” I’ve been there. I still end up there sometimes. But I don’t want him to stop there. I want him to learn how to recognize patterns, put guardrails in place, and be better than I was at that age. That’s where discipline gets complicated. I don’t believe consequences alone teach someone like us how to regulate or reflect. But I also believe consequences have to exist, because life will hand them out regardless.

How do you handle disciplining your kids? I know there’s a wide age range in this group but if there a certain point, we all need to tell our kids had a behave. Anybody have any tricks for keeping their cool in these situations?

...I don’t fully know what’s next. I don’t know exactly what this group is going to become. I don’t know what the “final form” looks like yet. And it would be easy to label that as being lost. But honestly? I don’t feel lost in a bad way. I feel like I’m choosing my next move. One thing I do know, across improv, business, work, and fatherhood, is that everything keeps coming back to the same question: What game am I playing right now? As fathers, I think we get tripped up when we’re juggling multiple games at once and forget to name which one matters most in the moment. Provider. Partner. Leader. Playmate. Student. Builder. Sometimes we’re exhausted not because we’re failing but because we’re switching games without realizing it. This past week drove that home for me. Big wins at work. Real learning moments as a dad. Some situations that required instinct, restraint, and humility. The kind of stuff you don’t get a manual for. And that’s part of why I’m grateful this space exists; even if it’s still evolving. Sometimes it’s a place to think things through. Sometimes it’s a place to rant. Sometimes it’s just a place to drop a dumb meme and breathe for a second. I don’t have all the answers yet but I am here. And I want this to be a space where you feel like you can be too. Which brings me to something I want your help with. A group can exist and be “nice”… but for it to really matter, there has to be something you’re moving toward. Some kind of transformation, engagement, or intrigue that makes you want to show up, not out of obligation, but because it actually helps. So I’ll ask you directly: What would need to change in your life for this group to be worth participating in? What do you want more clarity on? What game are you trying to play better right now? Drop a comment. One sentence is enough. I’m listening because I want to build this with you, not just for you.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the end of my journey here. Not in a dark or morbid way, but in the way you think about the end of a journey when you’ve reached the end of others before. I’ve finished contracts. Finished life on ships. Finished college. Finished living in the country I grew up in. I know what endings feel like. What’s interesting is that most endings aren’t as final as they seem. There’s often a way back. Sometimes I’ve gone back. Sometimes I haven’t. But endings still force a reckoning. That’s what this is. When people talk about worst-case scenarios after death, they usually jump straight to hell. Fire, brimstone, endless suffering, eternal punishment. Strangely enough, that doesn’t scare me as much as it probably should. There’s something almost workable about it. You could prepare for suffering. You could build mental toughness, discipline, endurance. You could learn how to carry weight without reward. I’m not defending hell, but I understand it. What scares me more is something quieter. Imagine being sat down at the end of your life and shown a highlight reel. Not a judgment. Just a record. Your life, as lived. And as you watch it, the overwhelming feeling isn’t horror or pain, but disappointment. That’s it? That I spent my time chasing easy pleasures. Sitting on the couch. Avoiding discomfort. Numbing myself. Ignoring things I knew mattered. And now it’s over, and there’s no fixing it. No tools left. No strength to summon. No second attempt. That, to me, feels like the real worst-case scenario. The ancient Stoics had a phrase for this. Memento mori. Remember, you must die. Marcus Aurelius didn’t mean this as a threat. He meant it as a lens. Let the fact of death shape how you live, how you choose, how you act today. And if I’m honest, I haven’t been doing that. Somewhere along the way, I started conflating pleasure with reward. Comfort with meaning. Relief with progress. And they are not the same thing. Pleasure isn’t evil. It isn’t the problem. The problem is unchosen pleasure, the kind you fall into when you’re under-aimed. When you don’t know what you’re moving toward, your nervous system grabs whatever makes the moment quieter.

I know what I am about to describe is not exclusive to fathers. Mothers feel it too. Anyone responsible for a child probably does. It is a rainy morning. Just me and my son. And I feel this quiet weight to keep him entertained. To be a good dad. To make the time count. A few minutes in, I stepped away. He found something on his own. He started playing. Calmly. Happily. That is when it clicked. I am not his personal cruise director. I do not need to manufacture moments. I do not need to perform. I just need to be present when I am with him. Everything else starts there.