I almost traded a memory with my son for a social media post.
I was deep in the grind, answering messages from dads who needed support and trying to build this business. I had convinced myself that what I was doing was "critical." I felt the pressure to get just one more post up.
Then my son walked in. He looked at me and said, "Dad, come play with me."
My thumb hovered over the screen. I started to tell him, "Just a minute, buddy, I have to finish this." I felt that pull—the addiction to the work, the need to feel productive.
But then I looked at him. Really looked at him.
I realized that the post could wait. The algorithm doesn't care about me. But this boy? He needs me right now. I only get this age once.
I put the phone face down. We got on the floor. We dumped out the Legos and the Matchbox cars and we just played. We built a city and crashed the cars, and we had an amazing time.
I realized something powerful on that floor. I do all this work to help other dads show up for their families. But I almost missed showing up for mine.
You can't automate presence. You have to choose it.
We work hard to build a future for our kids, but we can't let the building get in the way of the being. The real legacy isn't the business you build; it's the memories you make on the floor.
- What "important task" are you letting steal time from your family today?
2. If your son or daughter wrote a story about you today, would the main character be you, or your phone?
Your action today: Put the phone in a drawer. Set a timer for 20 minutes. Get on the floor and play blocks, throw a ball, or just listen. Be all there.
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I almost traded a memory with my son for a social media post.
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