There are few places left where more than one hundred thousand strangers can stand shoulder to shoulder and, for three hours, forget almost everything that divides them. I've watched it happen inside LSU's Tiger Stadium. I've seen it during the World Cup. I've seen it in small-town high school gyms and Little League ballparks. Republicans hug Democrats after a touchdown. People who would never agree on politics high-five after a walk-off home run. For a little while, we becom

We spend enormous amounts of time celebrating the exceptional. The billionaire. The celebrity. The superstar athlete. The politician. But civilization isn't held together by exceptional people. It's held together by ordinary people who quietly decide to show up again tomorrow. Teachers. Nurses. Parents. Caregivers. Police officers. Firefighters. Paramedics. Members of the military. Truck drivers. Construction workers. Mail carriers. Electricians. Utility workers restoring pow

“We are stardust, contemplating the stars, trying to make sense of the gift of being alive.” – Carl Sagan Here we are, where the improbable meets the inevitable. Somewhere in the quiet architecture of biology, a single cell won a race against roughly two hundred million others - on a specific night, in a specific place, between two people who first had to find each other across the unlikely surface of the earth. Move any one piece - a delayed train, a canceled flight, a war t

"Vulnerability is the birthplace of connection." - Brené Brown There are conversations almost every human being will eventually face - about death, faith, regret, mental illness, politics, forgiveness, money, purpose. Oddly enough, they are the conversations we avoid most. Why do we spend so much time talking to each other, yet so little time talking about what matters most? I have always preferred conversations face to face - looking someone in the eye, noticing the pauses,

"The most beautiful discovery true friends make is that they can grow separately without growing apart."— Elisabeth Foley One day you are thirty. Your children are still young. There are birthday parties to attend every weekend it seems. School functions. Baseball games and dancing recitals. You meet new friends like the parents of your children’s friends. If you happen to be from and still living in a small town, you still stay close with some of your high school friends. Bu

I turn 57 this week, and I'm struck by how quickly time has passed. The loneliness I sometimes feel doesn't come from being alone or isolated. It comes from watching my children become adults, my parents grow older, and my interests quietly change. It comes from realizing that almost no one asks how I'm doing anymore. I am fortunate beyond measure to share my life with my soulmate and wife, along with our two stubborn dachshunds. I cannot imagine life without them. Lately, I

I would be lying if I said I was not afraid. I'm afraid of watching my parents, my in-laws, and my friends grow older. Yet I also recognize how fortunate they are. They're still here. Still engaged. Still playing in overtime. My parents are in overtime. I'm entering the fourth quarter. And if I'm fortunate enough to hear the final buzzer decades from now, I hope I'll earn overtime, too. Aging has taught me more than I ever expected. The old saying is true: if only I had known