In the end, some days are just mediocre.
You may say you gave it your best, but deep down you know it wasn’t.
You could have done more or done better, but the net result was that it was just ‘okay’ enough to get it done and, to your credit, still likely more than most would do.
Settling on some point between sensational and satisfactory is a dissatisfying dysphoria for otherwise truly exceptional performers. Despite rationalizing about how insanely too busy you were to give it your all, the day ended leaving you wondering “maybe there’s a better way” so you don’t risk that gradual spiraling trajectory down to a “just okay” standard as concession to accomplish all you must.
This dilemma is everyone’s and the case for pretty much everything noble to which we set our minds and passions. Enter zealous with good intentions…exit disappointed with less than enthusiastic results.
It’s human to be a critic of what you missed and also human to miss critical parts of what you did well. Mediocrity is neither aspiration nor inspiration, but sometimes, it just is.
And without a few of life’s mediocre moments, our shining ones wouldn’t look so shiny.

America’s problem might just be perseverance most of all.
Important issues are complex, requiring time and tedious navigation by critical thinkers to arrive at the better solutions. But so many lazy in our employ retire prematurely on narratives and emotional hashtags summarizing incompletely formed conclusions in hopes enough likes will make them true; they can feel satisfied never having finished the effort, experienced neither the healthy give and take of compromise nor the greater good of having intentionally or empathetically listened to the opposition for a truly informed decision.
America’s problem may be loss of stamina to persevere solutions the hard way, together, versus the cowardly way, alone.

On Father’s Day of all days!
My gift from my kids was a thorough cleaning out of my garage. After a couple long, hot hours of hard work, the very last sealed box found in the corner to stow or throw away was marked “Tomas for Grandkids.” Upon opening, we found 8 pristine original framed paintings from his “Tomas the Tortoise” children’s book series, signed, remarqued, titled and labeled, obviously a gift for our next generation of Millers put away years ago for discovery some special day long after he was gone. Father’s Day of all days! What a surprise!
I was excited just getting my garage cleaned up, but it’s just like Dad to trump a great gift with one much better!
#AFathersDayToRemember

People who already exercise the power of good before discovering the power of God enjoy a more seamless transition, undetectable except in a heart now motivated by something deeper and purer than mere religion.

I didn’t watch. First evening in a long time. I came home, took off my sweat-soaked clothes and sat silent in the quiet of my living room holding my pup, enjoying the cool tornado space where the breezes of my ceiling fan and oscillating fan collide. I honestly didn’t miss watching the dreadful network news at all. I now realize that all along what I’ve been missing out on is this blissfully cool, calm feeling of tranquility and peace in my own very private space to celebrate at day’s end. Enough news and noise in my day. No need for more at home. I believe I’ve found a lovely new habit. #peacefullyignorant #silenceismorethangolden

Maybe it’s because I’m getting older and wiser, but I’ve noticed that things which now bring me to tears are less the everyday instances of hurt, pain and sadness and more the unexpected moments of joy, reconciliation and serendipity. Maybe as the years advance we become so accustomed to tragedy that we’re more easily moved to tears by sudden simple beauties which were always there before us but at an age when we believed the world owed us more and it blocked our vision.

The less time I have left the more important I find it is to plan a clean exit on a high note guided by simpler truths.
This, and the wrinkles, is how I know for certain that I’ve grown up.

◦ So here I am at home serving what feels like a few months beginning of an indefinite life sentence, isolated while the rest of the world is busy getting back to social normals. I’m not angry, but I do miss their healthy freedoms that if risked, with high probability would be the start of the end my life. I hold first prize in every high risk category. Age, male, diabetic, ex-smoker, hypertensive, heart disease after three cardiac arrests, and treated with 28 daily medications, now seriously questioning what was once an abundant faith and if this worry is even worth it any longer. I now work from home, have few visitors other than socially distanced masked people I suspect are my family and then only rarely. I rely mostly on my kids to run my errands and when I take the rare solo journey out, it’s only when absolutely necessary, brief and followed by a monotonous routine of home sanitizing rituals. I’m not a buyer of all the media hype and exaggerations but I have seen the pained suffocation of those dying on ventilators and the many makeshift morgues for the dead around the world, afflicted once before entering a losing battle with far fewer preexisting conditions than I bring to the table. Unsure if masks, sprays, gloves and sanitizers even work anymore, they’re the only presumed deterrents to increase statistical probabilities of staying alive. Despite my occupation, I don’t feel very essential and this same 1,285 square feet has become a monotonous four-month detention center for working, eating and sleeping—not always in that order but all for which I remain very thankful. Despite what this has come to and so many differing and argumentative opinions, I often feel very much alone in mine and largely misunderstood by younger, healthier people unconcerned for themselves for legitimately better reasons. If I’m to be safer, I vow it won’t be dependent on the actions or inactions of others but entirely up to me and the boundaries I set and keep perhaps at the expense of not being quite fully human. Living rationally and reasonably all my life in nearly every other dimension, my living parts are starting feel a little less alive, occasionally paranoid and maybe even mentally unfit.
All this to say that I’m fairly certain I’m not entirely alone in these thoughts and like those others, won’t be immune to the insensitive criticisms we’ve come to expect as a result.
Not whining here, just offering a personal glimpse to affirm those of so many others who still feel very much the same but have been shamed against sharing it.