Category: Reflections

The Journey to Situational Awareness

How well do you know yourself?

I mean really know yourself.

It can be relatively easy to recognize your key traits. To understand whether you’re shy or outgoing. Confident or tentative. The center of attention or the one in the shadows.

But that’s only part of the equation.

You see, for us to truly understand ourselves, we must delve deeper than our personality traits. We must layer in context.

We must consider our situational awareness.

This is one of the trickiest concepts to master. Yet, it’s one of the most critical.

For how we respond to the contextual cues around us impacts how others see us. And how they choose to interact with us.

This can open doors for us. Or shut them.

It all hinges on how we read and react to the situations we encounter in real time.

Get this right and others will speak of us glowingly. Get it wrong, and they’ll cringe at our indiscretion.

But how do we learn to read situations right? How do we prepare to have the right response at every turn?

Through trial and error.

There are simply no shortcuts. Reading the room happens in real time, and our reactions bubble to the surface in that exact moment.

It’s only by failing that we succeed. By being cringeworthy and learning from the experience.

This process requires introspection. It requires humility. And it requires a willingness to change.

This is a big ask. Many of us don’t like second-guessing ourselves. And we don’t like to embarrass ourselves.

But by taking the plunge, we set ourselves up for success. The lessons we learn can help us gain social capital. And the actions we take help us build character.

Take it from me.

Growing up, I was notoriously bad at situational awareness. I looked and felt out of place on more than one occasion. And my social life — or lack thereof — reflected my contextual blindness.

I wasn’t even tone-deaf. I was clueless.

Fortunately, as time went on, I was able to flip the script. I made friends who assessed me honestly and pointed out my situational awareness flaws. And I developed the courage to identify my mistakes and learn from them.

I’m far from perfect today. But I find myself out of place far less often. And my peers regard me a lot more highly than they did in my younger years.

This transformation started with the courage to look within. To understand my deficiencies and work to make them strengths.

The journey that ensued has helped define me.

It’s not too late for your journey to start.

Do what you can to maintain situational awareness.

Learn the cues. Have the humility to grow through your mistakes. And get to know yourself far better than you might ever have imagined.

Your social future is at stake. Make it a great one.

An Ode to Utility

Utility.

What does it mean?

On a basic level, it means usefulness. It means everything having its place, with nothing going to waste.

On a personal level, it means my life philosophy.

You see, I’m utilitarian to a fault. The idea of wasting money on resources I don’t need bothers me. And the thought of wasting the day away doing nothing makes me nauseous.

The way I see it, resources are way too strained for me to go off-script with a day or an item. Everything must have its purpose and nothing should be left to neglect.

This also means I must maintain internal discipline at all times. I can’t shut off my brain for a day or mindlessly chase a thrill now and then. My mind is always working, my joy always tempered by my sense of responsibility.

This can drive those in my inner circle crazy.

“Live a little,” they say.

But I’ve lived a lot. Long enough to know that there are no shortcuts.

All of our actions balance out in the end. Better to be cognizant of this construct throughout than to live in a boom or bust cycle.

Yes, as great as it might be to live carefree, we have many responsibilities to manage. Our possessions, our bank account and our well-being are just a few. Forgetting about these for a while means we’ll need to work extra hard to tend to them later.

I’d rather do the hard work before I commit. To stay agile and think lean.

This keeps me on task and on purpose. Which helps me live a more fulfilling life. One that’s worth the grind.

So, how do I do it? Well I start by considering the use case. Then I consider the cost.

If I can’t find a good, regular use for what I’m considering, it’s not worth getting. It will simply waste away as clutter, and my hard-earned dollars will be better spent elsewhere.

And if something is prohibitively expensive, I don’t pursue it. Utility is about living within one’s means, and budgets do matter.

Of course, there are exceptions to these rules. Gifts and family heirlooms are not always utilitarian, but they are valuable. And sometimes I feel a financial splurge is necessary, even if it stretches beyond my means.

But I balance out these moments of excess with frugality. After all, the ultimate goal is utility. And utility requires a return to my purpose-driven normal.

Now, I realize my reality is a bit extreme. Not everyone has my laser focus when encountering each decision. Many don’t want to have it.

That’s understandable.

But we would all benefit by looking at the big picture now and then.

We would all benefit by considering our footprint. Of how we use what we obtain and what value that brings us.

We would all benefit by thinking of our purpose. Of how our lives fit into our grander plans.

And we would all benefit by recognizing that the little things can make a big difference.

We are all blessed to walk this earth.

Let’s live each day with purpose. And act with utility.

Reflection on Inflection

What is your inflection point?

The point that changed everything.

Mine came about 15 years ago, in a musty community hall in Folcroft, Pennsylvania.

My family had come to town that evening for my grandfather’s retirement party. After 40 years of serving the town’s medical needs, he was leaving the practice he’d built behind.

I knew what my grandfather did for a living. I remember going by his office from time to time, helping set up EKG’s for his patients.

But none of that could have prepared me for what I was about to experience.

The room where the party was held was packed with people I’d never met. I then watched in awe as person after person spoke of how much of an impact my grandfather had on their lives.

I was floored.

Coming into that party, I was an average teenager. I wore a backwards baseball hat, sought a good time at every opportunity and found the idea of growing up to be soul-crushing.

But by the end of the night, my entire life had changed.

I saw the impact my grandfather had on his community and felt inspired.

In that moment, I found my purpose. That purpose was to positively impact the lives of others, just as my grandfather had done.

That purpose has driven all of the major decisions I’ve made in my life and career. The college degrees I’ve pursued, the jobs I’ve worked, the places I’ve lived — all have been within the framework of profoundly impacting the lives of others.

Yet, it’s almost odd that this is the moment I circle as my inflection point. After all, I experienced the horrors of 9/11 firsthand, moved halfway across the country and made a daring career switch — all by the age of 25.

Those events changed the trajectory of my life, no doubt. But they were almost too direct.

There was no getting around the changes those events brought about. Whether by God’s will or my own, the status quo no longer existed. I had to come to terms with my new reality.

I felt small in those moments. And I felt powerless.

On the other hand, my grandfather’s retirement party didn’t have to change my life. I didn’t find myself facing the abyss, the point of no return. I could have gone on living my life as I had before, and no one would have batted an eye.

But that didn’t happen. I saw the the emotions my grandfather’s life’s work evoked in his community and decided to devote my life to helping mine.

I still felt small in this moment. But this time, I felt powerful.

I knew I had the power to live into my newfound purpose. But I had to do my part to make it reality.

There was clear buy-in required. And I was all in.

I believe this buy-in is key when it comes to our inflection points. After all, the most impactful moments in our life are not those that change us. They’re the ones that inspire us to change ourselves for the better.

So, when searching for your infection point, don’t focus on the changes you’ve endured. Search instead for your earliest moments of inspiration.

The smallest moments might be more impactful than you think.

Writing It Down

Have you ever loved something, but were afraid to fully admit it?

That’s how I’ve traditionally felt about writing.

The best way to describe my relationship with the art of writing over the years is It’s complicated.

You see, I’ve always had a knack for the written word. Putting words on paper has come easily to me.

And those words have struck a chord in others. I know this because of the comments people have shared with me on my writing, and the grades I have received on written assignments in school.

Writing my greatest natural talent. It is to me as basketball is to Michael Jordan, or string theory is to an astrophysicist.

Yet for many years, I resisted the label of writer. I tried to convince others that I was no different than anyone else when it came to putting words on paper.

Why was that? What was I afraid of?

That answer too is complicated.

Quite simply, there were many elements of writing that didn’t jibe with me.

First, I viewed writing as a solitary activity. One where you’re chained to your computer screen or the pages of a notebook. Earlier in my life, I wasn’t as comfortable with that solitude as I am now. Although I’m an introvert, I still wanted to be around people all the time back then.

Second, I had a healthy dose of imposter syndrome. I’ve long known that the best writers are voracious readers. But I’ve found reading books to be a challenge. Lengthy chapters and huge chunks of text have given me anxiety. They’ve caused me to lose my place and reread the same passage over and over again.

This deterred me from reading over the years. And since I didn’t read as much as I wrote, I considered myself a writing fraud.

Third, I didn’t see a future for myself in writing. Growing up, my parents implored me to consider becoming a journalist, but the thought of writing on a deadline for a living terrified me. I was worried I’d run out of story ideas, and get fired.

And I didn’t find the published author route appealing either. I knew didn’t have the creativity of a Dan Brown or a J.K. Rowling. I recognized I was more of a structured thinker than many great novelists, and rolling the dice on a book release every year or two would be dicey.

With all this in mind, I buried my writing talents. I focused on far-fetched dreams of playing professional baseball or directing movies.

By the end of my first semester of college, I realized these dreams were fantasies. I’d already been cut from my high school baseball team a few years before. And while I went to college as a film major, I quickly discovered that directing required the very creativity I lacked.

I was lost at a very vulnerable time in my life. I didn’t know where to turn for a career, I was surrounded by the distractions of college life, and I had no one to hold me accountable.

But writing saved me.

I’d already been volunteering with the weekly sports show at the campus TV station for a semester when I hit my crossroads. I signed up with the TV station because it gave me an opportunity to be involved with sports, which was my passion. But I quickly discovered a new passion — broadcast journalism.

I loved the process of taking sports news and writing it into small blurbs that could be read on air. I thoroughly enjoyed writing to video. And I felt great satisfaction formulating 30 second highlights that could evoke emotion within TV viewers.

Because of sports and television, I was back on speaking terms with writing again.

I quickly changed my major to broadcast journalism. I started volunteering for the news show at the TV station, and set my sights on becoming a TV news producer. And I did ultimately become a producer at the ABC affiliate in Midland, TX for my first three years of my post-college life.

Sadly, my passion for TV news waned after I had to cover some emotionally scarring news stories. I switched careers and became a digital marketer, at a time when content marketing was coming into vogue.

I leaned on my writing to gain a hold in my new career. I had little confidence in my marketing abilities at first, as I had no prior experience with the discipline. But I recognized that my writing talents were my gift, and that it was my obligation to share that gift with the world.

Still, I felt something was missing. There was so much more that I wanted to share through writing that didn’t fit within my job function. That’s what led me to create Words of the West.

When I launched Words of the West, I made a commitment. I committed to write a fresh article every week. I committed to open up and share my thoughts and reflections. I committed to use my unique talents to help make a difference.

It’s all come full circle. Everything I once feared about writing I now demand of myself.

Why? Because I love writing.

It turns out my talent is my passion. It just took me a long time to realize it.

But I’m so glad I finally did.

The Plight of the Introvert

I am an introvert.

Four simple words. One simple fact.

But one that’s exceedingly difficult for me to share with the world.

Why does the prospect of explaining my personality to a room of 60 people — as I did recently — feel like a special kind of torture? Why is conveying who I am — and how I am —  so gut-wrenching?

The answer cuts to the core of what introversion is.

You see, introverts must navigate an alternate reality, one that runs counter to the social norms that define our society. In a world where we’re expected to connect with one another through sharing, we introverts tend to keep our cards close to the vest.

Our guardedness is not a symptom of skepticism. It’s more a reflection of the manner in which think.

For the mind of an introvert is hardly ever at rest. It’s constantly cranking out permutations and observations related to make sense of the world. This process plants the seeds for the innovations so many introverts create, but it also requires heavy internalization and intense solitude.

Yes, there’s a storm brewing in the mind of an introvert. But no one else can hear the thunder.

Introversion directly contradicts the key tenet of our culture, which demands that we collectively experience the noise. It’s a key reason why introverts are labeled with such dismissive terms as shy, quiet or withdrawn.

These descriptions are all wrong.

Take myself as an example. I enjoy having some time to myself. I find inspiration in silence. And I definitely have my shy moments.

But these attributes don’t define my life. The situation I’m in does.

Put me in a room full of strangers and I’ll freeze. But surround me with people I know and I’ll work the room.

The challenge of that duality is a plight the introvert must face. For while we thrive in the company of those we trust and understand, we find it difficult to build upon that base. Yet, the action of building a network is critical for success.

Overcoming this hurdle is not impossible. But it is challenging, exhausting and extremely unsettling. What seemingly comes easy to extroverts takes all an introvert has to give, and then some.

Let’s close that gap.

Let’s resolve collectively to better understand the nuances of introversion. Let’s accept these differences and build upon the common ground of empathy.

And let’s recognize that introverts must communicate their plight for others to understand it.

This is precisely why I am admitting my introversion with you today.

For once we view introversion is more than just a dismissive term, we become that much more dynamic. Once we celebrate our similarities and our differences, we become that much more powerful. And once we find common understanding, we become that much more successful.

This is the world I hope to build on and contribute to. But it’s on all of us to make that world possible. And that process starts right here, through acceptance and connection.

I am an introvert. Take me as I am.

Facing Fear

Fear is one of the most powerful and universal motivators out there.

Regardless of our environment or disposition, we actively avoid situations that terrify us. Much like the antelope running from the lion on the Serengeti, fear drives us forward.

Fear inspires us to try harder, remain vigilant and avoid situations that make us feel uncomfortable. The message: Avoid unpleasant outcomes at all costs.

It’s all stick, no carrot. But it’s plenty effective anyway.

Yet, while fear can save us from being stagnant or careless, it can also prevent us from exploring the depths of our possibilities.

After all, the world is plenty scary. And we all too often remain inside our bubble to avoid facing our fears.

But, it turns out the safe play isn’t always the smart one.

While it makes sense to lock our cars and our homes, it’s foolish to lock our minds and our hearts.

Worse still, it’s futile. Because no matter how much we try and insulate ourselves from our fears, there’s a chance we’ll still end up facing them head-on.

And when we do, we might find them to be less terrifying than we’d anticipated.

I know this firsthand. For the first four years of my professional life, I was terrified of losing my job.

So, I played it safe. I didn’t take many risks. I asked my supervisors for a second opinion on my decisions constantly. And I volunteered to help colleagues whenever possible.

I did all this to make myself indispensable. To keep from losing my job.

But it happened anyway.

My second employer — the first one to give me a chance when I switched careers — laid me off after less than ten months on the job.

It was raw and painful for me at first. I couldn’t understand why I was out of a job, even though my job performance was high.

You see, I never considered that factors beyond my control might impact my employment status. That my position might be collateral damage if my employer was struggling.

(As it turns out, the venture that let me go went bust two months later.)

No, I wasn’t considering any of that at the time. Instead, I was considering myself a failure. I remember asking myself How could I ever hope to land another job with this black mark on my resume? And how am I going to be able to afford the rent?

I quickly learned how shortsighted this thinking was.

My current employer hired me within two weeks. And all that anxiety over upcoming rent payments evaporated.

I’d faced my fears head-on, and survived.

I’ve noticed a change in myself since that time. I’m more willing to take risks now, to get outside of my comfort zone, to be bold and direct.

This has made me a more indispensable and innovative employee than I was when I obsessed over my job status.

Yes, I have the luxury of being fearless now, because I’ve already experienced my fears. And I’ve discovered they’re not quite the monsters I thought they would be.

Truth is, we all have this luxury. We just need the gumption to act on it — within reason of course. (I wouldn’t recommend diving onto jagged rocks or swatting a hornet’s nest with your bare hands, for instance.)

Facing our fears isn’t easy. Such is the nature of running at something that chases us.

But it’s most certainly worth it.

So, be bold. Be strong.

Face that fear head-on, and you’ll stand to rise above it.

Better Together

Recent weather has rocked our country to its core. Monster hurricanes recently packed a one-two punch in Texas and Florida, causing life-threatening flooding and property damage.

These images from these areas have been heartbreaking. As someone who has lived in both states, I’ve found it overwhelmingly sad to see streets turned rivers, homes turned to rubble and prosperity turned to widespread despair.

Through it all, I kept thinking one thing, “I wish there was more I could do to help.”

Turns out, I’m not alone.

You’ve probably heard the stories by now — the Cajun Navy taking to the streets of Houston to save lives of those threatened by rising waters. All the volunteers helping Florida get back on their feet. People helping people, regardless of color, creed or political affiliation.

This is how it should be. This is how we were meant to be. So why are we only this way in the wake of an Act of God?

If there’s one thing that upsets me more than seeing an image of a woman being rescued from her roof, life as she knows it permanently altered, it’s seeing that image juxtaposed against another one of Tiki-Torch bearing Neo-Nazis storming a college campus in Virginia. Both these scenes played out within weeks of each other — and that’s a bad look for America.

Yes, it certainly appears we’re embracing divisiveness over unity, and only changing our tune in times of crisis. This leaves an open question as to what type of people we really are.

Are we undercover bigots who feign a spirit of inclusivity in times of trouble to boost social acceptance? Or are we good-hearted people who lack the guts to stand up to the angry voices that threaten to tear us apart?

I hope to God the second answer is the correct one. But it doesn’t really matter.

As the saying goes, “The evil we must fear the most is the indifference of good-hearted people.”

We are all part of the problem — in part because we’re afraid to commit to being part of the solution.

As I think back 16 years ago, to blue September skies suddenly shrouded by smoke and fire in New York City, I don’t just think of the horrific scenes of those towers falling. I don’t just think of those images of people jumping from 79th story windows, of people running from a cloud of rubble 200 feet high.

No, I think of what came after. Of the President addressing first responders through a bullhorn with the words, “The nation sends its love and compassion to all of you.” Of the country rallying to boost the spirits of New York and Washington — both of which had lost so much to an act of evil. Of strangers treating strangers with kindness and compassion, no matter their differences.

I wish to God that 9/11 had never happened. It will haunt me for the rest of my life.

But I also wish that spirit I saw in the months that followed would have stuck around.

After all, we’ve proven time and again that we can rally for each other when its needed most. But truthfully, unity always needed.

We owe it to those lost to 9/11, Katrina, Harvey, Irma —we owe it to all of them to be better. To put aside our differences and be as one, even after the smoke has cleared and the water recedes.

Most of all, we owe it to ourselves, and to our collective future. For it’s how we act between the storms, when the world isn’t watching, that will truly define our destiny.

So, let’s write that narrative. Together.

Analysis Paralysis

Lock it up.

We’ve likely heard those words from an early age.

Whether we’re looking to protect our property or our own wellbeing, we recognize that we need to guard it behind some sort of resistant barrier. A lock. A passcode. Even a contraceptive.

And a lifetime of closely guarding all we’ve held dear has impacted our feelings about the word lock. It represents our White Knight, our silent protector.

Yet, there are times when that word can mean nothing but doom for us. Such as when machinery we’re using locks up. Or our brains do.

That’s right, we can sabotage our own hopes and dreams by putting our brains on lockdown. I’m not talking about the infamous “Brain Freeze” here — when we seem to act with an absence of thought. I’m talking about the opposite of that.

Namely, I’m talking about the dangers of Analysis Paralysis.

***

We are, by and large, thoughtful people. Our collective exuberance for learning has helped us innovate and organize over Millennia. It’s taken us from cave paintings to computer sciences, quintupled our average lifespan and even allowed us to systemize the passing of knowledge to new generations.

Thought is the engine that’s driven much of what we’ve created, and much of what we’ve destroyed. It’s been touted, both subtly and blatantly, as the must-have attribute in our society.

But the power of thought is not unlimited. It can turn our mind into a pretzel if we’re not careful.

You see, Analysis Paralysis is not just a catchy buzzword. It’s a real, debilitating condition we subject ourselves to, far too regularly.

How do I know? Because I find myself afflicted with it time and again.

Thinking is at the heart of everything I do. I try and learn something new every day, and as my Words of the West readers know, I write at least once a week. But for every moment I ponder something existential and profound, there’s another where I can’t decide what to eat for dinner.

It’s maddening — not only to myself, but also to my friends and family.

Why? Because Analysis Paralysis brings out a vicious cycle of annoying traits.

At first, there’s indecisiveness. While I ultimately do come to a decision, I then feel compelled to back it up with a convoluted logical argument. And finally, regret over the option I didn’t choose kicks in, and I spend hours playing the “What If” game.

By the time this cycle has run its course, I’ve expended a ton of unnecessary energy on a basic decision. It my daily brainpower is a finite resource, I’ve effectively spilled a large portion of it onto the pavement.

It’s sad, even shameful. But, I reckon I’m far from the only one to ever experience this.

***

So, who’s to blame for this onslaught of Analysis Paralysis?

Is it us? Our society?

Truth be told, it’s probably a little bit of both.

You see, our societal expectations are stringent and exacting. We value innovators and thought leaders — those who go the extra mile to expand their minds and horizons.

It takes a lot of work to go that extra mile. In particular, it requires recoding our brain to gather as much pertinent information as possible before making an assessment.

And once we get there, there’s really no turning back.

For all we talk about “flipping an off switch” in our brains or “going on vacation mode,” the reality is that we’re still running all the calculations with every decision we make — no matter where we make it.

Some of us can prioritize these decisions, tuning out the white noise for the basic ones in order to keep them simple.

Others of us cannot.

But, there is hope for those of us in this predicament. Hope that starts with awareness.

  • Awareness of the varying levels of gravity of the decisions we make.
  • Awareness of the debilitating effects of chronic overthinking.
  • Awareness of the benefits of “Letting It Ride” from time to time.

If we can get to this point of conscientiousness, our brains can run a new set of calculations. One that convinces us that choosing between tacos and burgers doesn’t need to be as exacting a process as pondering the meaning of life. One that lets us use our brainpower more efficiently. And one that allows us to preserve our sanity.

We owe it to ourselves, our loved ones and our society to get to this point — to eliminate Analysis Paralysis once and for all. It will make us happier. And it will make us better citizens.

Time to slay this beast. Let’s get started.

River Tales

I recently took a trip with some friends down to Central Texas to float the Guadalupe River. It was an epic weekend filled with hot sun, cold beers and adventure. A summertime treat.

Tubing might seem like a simple venture, but here in Texas, it’s a sacred pastime — a fact that becomes ever more apparent to me each time I do it. For while Texas has countless rivers and lakes, thousands of people converge upon two of them — the Comal and the Guadalupe — in and around the city of New Braunfels each summer. So, on a scorching afternoon, you’re likely to see the river packed with inner tubes and floating coolers. It’s like a giant floating fiesta.

Still, for all the tradition and pageantry of tubing the Guadalupe, it’s a bit surprising that I’ve taken to this activity the way I have. I abhor mud and rocky rapids, and I’ve historically been more inclined to be in the water than on it —  particularly when the mercury hits triple digits. On the surface, tubing would not appear to be “my jam.”

Yet, every time I wade into the refreshingly cool water and climb up into my inner tube, it’s like I’m born again. What gives?

I gave this contradiction much thought during this most recent trip. Then I opened my eyes and realized my answer was all around me.

You see, tubing combines the best of what Texas has to offer in one setting. It melds the serenity of rivers in the picturesque Hill Country with cold beers and friendly people out to have a good time. It’s both individual and communal, peaceful and exciting. There’s something in it for everyone.

And while there are some drawbacks to setting a bunch of people and booze on a natural current, the plusses are that much greater. Tubing has turned New Braunfels — a small city between San Antonio and Austin — into a summertime mecca, complete with more hotels and restaurants than many Texas towns its size can boast. This, in turn, has produced plenty of jobs around town for the locals — to go along with those offered by the tube rental businesses upriver.

Just as importantly, tubing allows Texans of all origins to come together in one place. On my most recent journey downriver, I met people from Houston and Odessa — two cities 500 miles apart. While it’s no secret that Texas is a big state, it is a secret outside these parts that Texas is the Caddo word for “friend.” And while some like to spin the narrative that Texans are angry gun-wielding pickup truck drivers, the real narrative is right there on that river — where strangers from far corners of the state gather as friends in peaceful recreation.

Yes, the stories are what I love the most about tubing the Guadalupe. The story of the river winding through limestone hills, same is it did back when the buffalo roamed free. The story of how some pioneering Texans created a summer recreational paradise on those waters, all while taking little more than what the river and hills already gave them. The story of how a small Texas town became a renowned destination. The story of how people from all over Texas take part in the experience, socializing with strangers along the way. And yes, the stories of the adventures you encounter on the way downstream.

(Those tend to be a doozy, as was the case on this recent trip.)

These stories are what makes this activity so timeless and resonant. At the core, these stories what it means to be Texan.

I realize how special all of that is. And it’s why I’m already excited for my next trip down the river, whenever that may be.

The Ballpark Odyssey

I recently completed a journey to visit every operating Major League Baseball stadium.

It was quite an undertaking — one I’ve dubbed the Ballpark Odyssey. My travels took me to 37 ballparks over 18 years — including all 30 current Major League ballparks.

This odyssey allowed me to experience the timeless wonder of Boston’s Fenway Park and Chicago’s Wrigley Field. It introduced me to the modern gems that are Pittsburgh’s PNC Park and Baltimore’s Camden Yards. It took me from Seattle to Miami, San Diego to Detroit and everywhere in between. Heck, it even led me north of the border to Toronto.

I did far more than watch baseball along the way. Indeed, I got to sample regional ballpark cuisine at nearly every stop. I got to sing Roll Out the Barrel with the hometown fans in Milwaukee and clap along to Deep in the Heart of Texas between innings here at home. Most of all, I got to enjoy the American summer tradition of going to a Major League Baseball game in every venue that offers the experience.

As I reflect back on this achievement, I think of all I’ve learned along the way. I started out as a kid who loved to watch baseball and ended up as a man who loves all that America has to offer. Getting to experience all of our nation’s great cities and meet some of the people who call them home has been a tremendous blessing, one that has helped me understand our nation far better than I once did.

I also think of everyone I shared these ballpark experiences with. For while I did go to a couple of ballparks solo, I was generally accompanied by family and friends. In particular, I think of my father, who inspired me to go on this journey in the first place and frequently joined me on mini-trips to “cross some ballparks off the list.”

But most of all, I think of the memories that I made as I got ever closer to achieving my goal. Memories such as:

  • The blustery Sunday afternoon I spent with my sister and a close friend in the last row of Wrigley Field. It was a bit too chilly to enjoy my Old Style beer, but that was one of the best days of my life.
  • The game at Detroit’s Comerica Park where a man in our section convinced my dad to get a Coney Island and then taught him the proper way to eat it.
  • The time my mother insisted on getting club level seats at Camden Yards, simply because it had an air-conditioned concourse.
  • The evening when my cousin and I got upgraded from the upper deck to third row seats at San Diego’s Petco Park. (Thanks again for that, Travis!)
  • The fateful night when the Yankees and Mariners got into a benches-clearing brawl at Seattle’s Safeco Field.

I don’t remember the scores of all the ballgames I went to, but I’ll never forget these experiences.

That’s what it’s all about. And it’s why my now-completed Ballpark Odyssey is something I’ll cherish for the rest of my life.