From Cat Stevens to Charlie Kirk: What Do We Lose When We Tune Out?

Yesterday, with the help of Gemini, I curated a playlist featuring some of my favorite songs spanning the 1970s to the early 2000s. The usual suspects made the cut: Dave Matthews Band, Al Stewart, Joe Jackson, Van Morrison, Joe Cocker, Jackson Browne, Paul Simon, Gerry Rafferty, and Jim Croce. You get the drift: soulful, storytelling-driven music that’s aged like fine wine.

Curious, I asked the AI who else might belong in this musical circle. Without hesitation, it suggested Cat Stevens. That name stirred something in me.

For years, I had a personal ban on the artist formerly known as Cat Stevens, who converted to Islam in 1977 and took the name Yusuf Islam. He was allegedly linked to the fatwa calling for harm against author Salman Rushdie, following the publication of The Satanic Verses. That association deeply troubled me. How could someone who wrote and sang “Peace Train” publicly support violence against a writer exercising free speech?

Out of confusion, hurt, and, if I’m honest, immaturity, I stopped listening to Cat Stevens altogether.

But as Gemini reminded me of the beauty in his music, “Peace Train,” “Wild World,” “Morning Has Broken,” “Oh Very Young,” “Father & Son”, I felt something shift. The 2025 edition of Greg Sturgill said, “Grow up. Reclaim the music you love.” So, I did. Even if these songs age me, I’ll listen to them proudly, even in public.

This reflection led me to a deeper question: What other artists, authors, or creators have I blocked out because of their flaws or controversial opinions? Truman Capote, Pete Townshend, Mel Gibson, Johnny Depp, Charlie Sheen, just a sampling. What would I have missed if I gave them the same treatment I gave Yusuf Islam?

Recently, I’ve seen similar divisions surrounding Charlie Kirk. I’ll admit, I know very little about him and have no desire to dig deeper. However, the public reaction to the tragedy surrounding him has, in my opinion, revealed some of the worst aspects of online discourse. It feels like a modern-day flashpoint—one that could tear communities apart. Companies are even firing employees for expressing their constitutionally protected beliefs.

So I ask you: Have you ever blocked someone or an entire group out of your life because of their character flaws or differing opinions? If so, what did you lose in the process?

Wants, Needs, and the Fedora Question

As the years stack up—and brothers, am I feeling those years—I’ve noticed a shift in how I think about what I want versus what I need. When I was younger, the list of “wants” felt endless: new gadgets, new clothes, new toys, new milestones. But with age, I’ve come to realize that many of those wants wouldn’t actually improve my life—or anyone else’s, for that matter.

When I reflect on wants versus needs, my mind drifts to a haunting line from Glen Campbell’s Wichita Lineman:

“I need you more than I want you, and I want you for all time.”

Every time I hear that, goosebumps. It nails the difference between fleeting desires and soul-level necessity.

And speaking of age, I’ve started to think of life like a gas tank. The first half? Smooth sailing, plenty of mileage, lots of road ahead. The second half? That needle drops at an alarming rate, and every mile feels like it’s burning faster than the one before. That reality sharpens my focus: What do I really need, and what’s just a distraction?

Take this photo of me, styled up like Raymond Reddington. A few thoughts immediately hit me:

Black might actually be my color.

A fedora isn’t out of the question.

My eyes really do smile when I let them.

And yet, the questions creep in. Would my life truly be more complete with a $1000 suit? Would a $600 Borsalino fedora really bring more meaning than my trusty Chiefs cap?

It’s said that clothes make the man. But after all these years, I can’t help but wonder, do I really need to buy more to feel “made”? Or maybe, just maybe, I’ve already got what I need: the smile in my eyes, the people I love, and enough road left in the tank to enjoy the ride.

From Red Ink to Resonance: Why I Keep Writing Anyway

Random thoughts have a way of ambushing me. They don’t knock politely; they ricochet around my head until I give them a place to land. Writing is my way of clearing the mental clutter — of turning noise into something that might, just maybe, spark a conversation.

These days, my process is a team sport. After I wrestle my first draft onto the page, I call in my colleagues — Grammarly, Gemini, and yes, even Copilot to help me polish the rough edges. This isn’t new for me. Back in high school, my newspaper moderator would toss me an unabridged dictionary and demand proof that my word choices actually existed. (They usually did. Usually.)

Fast forward a few decades, and I’m still handing over rough drafts — whether it was my weekly “Friday Notes” for parents and teachers or today’s blog posts to someone with a red pen and a gleam in their eye. My longtime editor had a particular talent for circling my words like a hawk spotting prey. The smug look said it all: This is going to be fun!

For years, I saw that red ink as a verdict on my competence. Now, I see it as part of the journey. I’ve read books on punctuation, devoured Bill Bryson’s musings on the English language, and still, I’m learning. Because here’s the truth: my thoughts might be borderline creative, maybe even savant-like on a good day, but they need a little help to shine through.  And that’s okay.

I write because I believe in the power of words to connect us. I write because I want my blog to be more than a monologue — I want it to be a conversation starter. I want you, the reader, to nod, laugh, disagree, or share your own ricocheting thoughts.

So here’s what I’m committing to:
• Leaning into my voice, be it reflective, humorous, or emotionally honest, and refining it without sanding off its edges.
• Creating rituals like my Weekly Notes and maybe a new “Ricochet Round” to share the stray thoughts that demand attention each week.
• Inviting dialogue by ending posts with questions and featuring your responses.

The Red Ink Isn’t the End — It’s the Beginning
If you’ve ever felt the sting of critique, remember this: red ink is proof that you’re in the ballpark. It means you cared enough to put your thoughts into the world, knowing they might come back to you marked up, challenged, or misunderstood.  But here’s the magic — every mark, every edit, every rewrite is a step toward resonance. And resonance is what turns a blog post into a bridge between minds.  So, what’s been ricocheting in your head lately? I’d love to hear it.

Charity with Dignity: Small Acts, Eternal Impact

A young boy once asked his father why he always seemed to overpay when buying from small vendors or those struggling to make ends meet. The father smiled and said, “Son, that’s easy. It’s called Charity with Dignity. You can help people who need a break in life while still honoring the value of their work. It’s about lifting others up without making them feel small.”

This simple exchange carries a profound truth: generosity doesn’t have to be loud or grand. It can be quiet, respectful, and deeply human.

In another touching moment, a father was seen in a video asking a neighbor for a couple of spoons of sugar to finish baking a birthday cake. When he returned home, his son asked, “Dad, why did you borrow sugar? We have plenty.” The father replied, “Our neighbors don’t have all the resources we do. If I borrow something small from them now, they might feel more comfortable asking for help when they truly need it. It’s about building trust through simple acts.”

These stories echo a timeless message found in the Gospel of Matthew, where Jesus says:

“For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me.”

We might ask, “Lord, when did we do these things?” And the answer is clear: every time we care for someone in need, we are serving Christ Himself.

What’s striking about this passage is that it doesn’t speak of heroic deeds or massive donations. It speaks of everyday kindness—sharing food, offering water, welcoming a stranger, visiting the sick. These are small acts with eternal value.

On judgment day, it won’t be about why we did or didn’t help. It will simply be: Did we help others or not?

So how can we practice Charity with Dignity in our daily lives?

Here are a few simple practices:

• Support local vendors: Pay fairly, tip generously, and compliment their work.
• Borrow and lend thoughtfully: Create a culture of mutual support, not charity.
• Offer help quietly: Assist without fanfare or expectation of recognition.
• Be present: Visit someone who’s lonely, listen without judgment, show up.
• Teach empathy: Share these values with children through your actions.

Every person deserves respect and dignity—not because of what they have, but because of who they are: children of the Creator.

Let’s make kindness a habit. Let’s make dignity a priority. Let’s make love visible in the smallest of ways.

Letting Go of What Weighs Us Down

I came across something recently that really made me pause. It was one of those “wow, I needed to hear that” moments. It talked about how much lighter life feels when we stop carrying around all the stuff that weighs us down,  especially worry.

Let’s be honest: worry feels like we’re doing something worthwhile. It's as if we’re solving problems just by thinking about them nonstop. But really? It’s like sitting in a rocking chair; lots of movement, zero progress.

Most of the things we stress over either don’t matter as much as we think or they’re entirely out of our control. So I started thinking about the kinds of worries I could let go of, and maybe you can too.

Here are 12 things we could stop stressing about starting today:    

1. What strangers think – They don’t know your story. Don’t give them free rent in your head.
2. Past mistakes – You’re not the same person you were back then. Learn from it and move on.
3. Stuff you can’t control – Be like Elsa, Let it go. 
4. How fast you’re (not) growing – Progress is progress, even if it’s slow. Remember the Turtle and the Hare? 
5. People who left – Some folks are just passing through. 
6. The “what ifs” – Most of those fears live only in your head. 
7. The future – We can't change the past, you can’t predict the future. Be present in today.
8. Little daily annoyances – Don’t let small stuff steal your peace.
9. Trying to be liked by everyone – Do you want peace or acceptance?
10. Perfection – Fr. Aaron reminds us to work for progress, not perfection.
11. Paths you didn’t take – What’s meant for you will find you.
12. Time you think you’ve lost – You’ve still got time. 

Here’s the bottom line: life’s too short to spend it worrying. Shift your focus to what fills you up, not what drains you. Protect your energy. Be present. Let go of what was never meant to control you. Peace starts when worry stops.

Do Clothes Really Make the Man?

Today I showed up in a silky golf shirt, a Callaway jacket, and a hat from the SSP Golf Tournament Committee. The chorus was immediate: “We didn’t know you were a golfer!”

I’m not. I just liked the shirt, the jacket fit, and honestly, I had bed head!

It’s not the first time my outfit has raised eyebrows. Sometimes I throw on a hoodie from a previous school where I worked, only to be met with: “Do you like that school better than ours?” or even “You can’t wear that here.”

It reminded me of my college days. When I transferred to Missouri State from St. Mary’s University in San Antonio, I proudly wore my Kappa Sigma Greek colors. Frat row scoffed: “We don’t recognize those colors here.” Their pushback didn’t stop me; it only inspired me to help start a new fraternity chapter in Springfield.

Go back a little further, and I’m in junior high. My best friend once got mad at me because I wore athletic tape on my football socks outside of practice. He thought I was showing off. Truth was, hygiene hadn’t quite clicked yet — I had slept in my practice socks and just forgot to change them.

Funny how clothes carry so much weight. There’s a phrase, “clothes make the man.” ZZ Top claimed “everybody loves a sharp-dressed man.” And we know too many tragic stories of kids who have died in the streets because of the colors they wore.

So here’s my question:
Are we putting too much emphasis on what people wear, instead of the person underneath the fabric?

Sometimes, I just want to wear what’s comfortable… and doesn’t make my butt look big.

When Holiness Meets the Bro Code: Who Wins?

 

I’ve been wrestling with a question: can someone really be holier than thou while still living by the bro code? Here’s why I ask.

After spitting in a tube for Ancestry, I discovered my biological father — the man I was told had died was alive. He has siblings, too, including a man I found on Facebook.

I messaged him:
Do you have a brother named xyz?
“Yes, sir, I do.”
That might make me your nephew.
“Son, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Then he disconnected online from me. Minutes later, he called his brother, my father, and said, “We might have some trouble brewing.”

Trouble? For asking about the family? That’s when the “bro code” hit me. Some bonds of silence and loyalty seem to override honesty — even faith. But should they?

Both men are Christian preachers, willing to tell me when I fall short morally. Those in their circles don’t hesitate to condemn Catholics, either, the Church, the Pope, the whole enchilada. And yet, we all claim the same Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Isn’t that common ground enough?

So, here’s what I’m left with: Does the bro code trump the call to truth? Can loyalty and holiness really coexist? Or does faith demand something deeper: compassion, honesty, reconciliation? I don’t know yet. But maybe that’s the point of writing: to wrestle with the questions out loud, seeking other perspectives!

What do you think when family, faith, and loyalty collide? Which one should lead?

 

Convertibles vs. Pottery Wheels: Midlife Crises, Explained

My good friends Gemini, Siri, and I had a round robin on this topic. You’d think that after working predominantly with women for the last 40 years, I could’ve winged this without consultants. But midlife is tricky terrain, and sometimes, even seasoned travelers need a guide.

The midlife crisis is one of those cultural clichés we all recognize. For men, the script is familiar: buy a red sports car, suddenly care a lot about your hairline, maybe flirt with someone who wasn’t alive when you learned to drive stick. It’s dramatic, visible, and often expensive.

For women, the midlife crisis tends to look different — quieter, subtler, and sometimes infinitely more satisfying. Instead of revving engines, it’s about revving personal growth: changing careers, picking up hobbies left behind in youth, or finally taking that long-postponed solo trip. She might not post a picture with a convertible, but she might proudly share a ceramic bowl she made in a pottery class she never thought she had time for.

You know the male stereotype: mid-40s to early 50s, restless, eyeing his reflection in the rearview mirror. Suddenly, life becomes a checklist of proof that youth isn’t completely gone. Sports cars. Hair treatments. Gym memberships that hurt more than they help.

It’s often about external validation — showing the world (and maybe himself) that he’s still relevant, desirable, adventurous. Sometimes it works. Sometimes he just ends up with a garage full of dust-covered convertibles and a lot of stories that start with, “I swear this time it’ll be different.”

Women, on the other hand, often experience midlife more as an internal awakening. They’re not necessarily chasing youth; they’re chasing authenticity. Maybe it’s a career pivot, a move to a new city, or enrolling in a class that excites them instead of one society expects them to take. Maybe it’s finally prioritizing their own health, rediscovering old passions, or redefining happiness on their own terms.

Sometimes the contrast is straightforward: while he’s shopping for a convertible, she’s pricing pottery wheels, not to impress anyone, but because it sparks joy.

But not everything is a polar opposite. Men and women may share the same underlying themes. Both may suddenly realize time is finite. Both may question whether they’ve accomplished what they wanted or if life has passed too quickly. Both may feel restless, impatient, or desperate for meaningful change.

The difference is often in how it manifests. Men’s crises are sometimes loud, visible, and performative. Women are often quieter, inward-facing, and transformational. But both are about one thing: reclaiming a sense of self.

There’s room for laughter here. He’s maybe on a test drive, thinking, “This car makes me feel like a kid again!” She’s in a cooking class thinking, “I have no idea what I’m doing, but I love it.” Both are scrambling for control, excitement, or novelty, just in different arenas.

Sometimes it’s ironic: he dreams of horsepower while she dreams of peace of mind. He wants to impress strangers; she wants to impress herself. Both are chasing vitality, but she may get there with fewer insurance premiums.

Midlife crises don’t have to be crises. They can be recalibrations. For men, it might involve humorously admitting that a scooter is cheaper than a convertible. For women, it might be about realizing that the dream she postponed in her 20s is still very much alive.

Ultimately, it’s not about the car, the fling, or the pottery wheel. It’s about rediscovering what matters, shedding societal expectations, and embracing who you really are, even if it comes with a hyphen, a mushroom latte, or an elliptical machine.

Midlife is less a cliff and more a chance to pivot, laugh at yourself, and buy that thing that makes you happiest, whatever that is.

Midlife isn’t a Dead End; It’s a U-turn!

There comes a point in many men's lives when the signs of a midlife crisis start appearing, with the persistence of unwanted spam emails. When you hit your late 40s, mid-50s, or even early 60s, society seems to announce: "It's time for your midlife crisis!" Cue the flashy convertible with the top down, the (Rudy Giuliani-inspired) hair dye in unnaturally youthful shades, and maybe even a fling with someone who wasn’t even alive when you were still figuring out your locker combination. It's as if a concierge is handing you a pamphlet that reads: "Welcome to Midlife! Please choose your indulgence: Option A: Sports Car. Option B: Hairline Revival. Option C: Awkward Dating Apps."

I stumbled upon an AI-generated script and thought: Really? Is this all midlife has to offer? Do I really need a little red Corvette (sorry, Prince) to feel alive, or a twenty-something partner to validate my existence? Admittedly, I did find myself browsing scooters at South Side Scooters—after all, they’re essentially convertibles for those who enjoy parking in tight spots. But rather than dive headfirst into the world of two wheels and a helmet that screams Italian fantasy, I hit the brakes. My own late midlife awakening came with a hyphen, a handful of supplements, some mushroom coffee, and yes, an elliptical.

One of the most meaningful changes was reclaiming my heritage. I hyphenated my last name to include my mother’s Hispanic family name—not just because it looks stylish on email signatures (and it does), but because it holds significance. It's a daily reminder of my roots and the culture that shaped me long before I cared about my waistline or crow’s feet. As musical artists like Jim Croce and the Goo Goo Dolls suggest, names carry history. Adding that hyphen wasn’t merely cosmetic; it was like upgrading to a better version of myself. Sure, it takes a little longer to fill out forms now, but meaningful change often comes with added paperwork.

I’ve also transformed how I fuel my days. While some guys might be knocking back bourbon in expensive tumblers or waiting in line at Starbucks for triple espressos, I opt for powdered mushrooms stirred into hot unsweetened almond milk, in hopes of achieving "focus & clarity." I can only imagine what my Appalachian father would say: “Boy, your coffee is made from fungus? Buddy, we used to call that penicillin!”

And then there’s my morning supplement routine, which resembles preparations for a science fair rather than a simple breakfast: vitamins, powders, and capsules, all aimed at improving gut health. Do they work? Who knows, but at least my urine glows like a neon yield sign, so something must be happening, right?

In terms of physical activity, I’ve swapped horsepower for human power. Instead of roaring down the highway in a convertible, I ride my bike, swim laps, and push myself on the elliptical. Swimming brings a sense of weightlessness and quiets my mind. Biking grants me the thrill of freedom without the burden of an added car payment. And the elliptical? Well, it’s an instrument of humility—twenty minutes on that contraption leaves me questioning every life choice that led me there. It’s like running, but with a constant reminder that I’m not as young as I used to be. Yet somehow, these choices feel authentic. A convertible may look exhilarating, but an elliptical proves just how much slower I’ve become.

Bottom line, none of this feels like a crisis to me. Instead, it feels like a recalibration. Midlife isn’t a dead end; it’s a U-turn, if you need one, or simply a lane change, even if you don’t. For me, it’s about honoring my roots, investing in my well-being, and finding humor in my own quirks along the way. I didn’t buy the convertible. I didn’t chase someone else’s youth. Instead, I chased my own, with a bike, an elliptical, and mushroom coffee that tastes suspiciously like soil but promises wisdom with every sip.

If midlife is supposed to be a crisis, I’ll gladly remain in crisis mode. But truthfully, I prefer to think of it as a renaissance, a chance to rediscover what truly matters and quiet the noise of societal expectations. Your journey might not involve a hyphenated name, mushroom coffee, or elliptical-induced regret, but what part of yourself can you redefine?

Embracing My Heritage: A Personal Reflection

 

In the second half of my life, I’ve come to embrace something that was always part of me—my Hispanic heritage. For years, I didn’t fully acknowledge the richness of my roots, even while living and working near San Antonio. That chapter is behind me now.

Today, I stand proudly as a descendant of Aztec blood, honoring the legacy of my family and culture. I’ve taken intentional steps to reflect that pride—hyphenating my last name to include my mother’s maiden name, Medellín-Sturgill, and adopting my baptismal and confirmation names in Spanish. “Guillermo” for William was easy. “Darrel” has no Spanish equivalent, so I simply say: Mi nombre es Darrel. And my everyday name, Gregorio—affectionately “Goyo”—connects me to a broader tradition of names that carry meaning and history.

This journey hasn’t been about correcting the past, but about living more fully into who I am today. I hope my story encourages others to explore and celebrate their own heritage, whatever it may be. Our diversity is a gift, and our stories are worth sharing.

Con orgullo,
Goyo Medellín-Sturgill

Be a Goldfish: The Art of Letting Go & Drinking Mushroom Coffee

 

There’s a moment in Ted Lasso—Season 1, Episode 2—that’s stuck with me ever since I first heard it. Ted turns to a discouraged Sam and says, “You know what the happiest animal on Earth is? A goldfish. Know why? It’s got a ten-second memory. Be a goldfish.”

Simple. Profound. And oddly inspirational.

“Be a goldfish” is such a powerful phrase—short, quirky, and wise. It’s about resilience, emotional agility, and the ability to move forward without dragging yesterday’s baggage into today. Why a goldfish? Because it forgets quickly. It doesn’t dwell. It doesn’t have a meltdown. It just swims.

What does that mean for us? It means we can choose to release the sting of a mistake, the weight of a bad day, or the awkwardness of a misstep—and move forward with grace.

I’ve been thinking about that lately—especially as I embark on my own quirky challenge: drinking 30 cups of RYZE mushroom coffee. Yes, mushroom coffee. The kind that tastes like someone scoped a forest floor in hot water and whispered “latte” over it.

Today’s cup? Almond milk. Sugar-free syrup. Still not “yummy,” but we’re inching toward “not so bad.” Progress.

But here’s the thing: every cup is a tiny act of resilience. A moment to say, “Okay, that wasn’t great… but there's only 28, 27,,, cups to go.” Just like the goldfish. Forget the bad sip. Swim forward.

And if anyone doubts my commitment to weird challenges, let me remind you—I once swallowed live goldfish in college for beer money. $5 bucks got you five six-packs of 905 (or Jax beer if you were in San Antonio). The memory of scales scraping my throat and the panic of a fish trying to swim upstream? Unforgettable. But I did it. And I moved on.

So maybe I’ve always been a bit of a goldfish. Not because I forget easily, but because I’ve learned to let go of the uncomfortable, the “what was I thinking?” moments—and kept swimming.

Whether it’s mushroom coffee, embarrassing moments, or tough days at work, we could all use a little goldfish energy. Let go. Reset. Try again tomorrow.

“Don’t cling to a mistake just because you spent a lot of time making it.” — Aubrey de Grey

Be a goldfish. And maybe… drink a mushroom latte. 

Meaning Lives Beyond the Reader

Not every story (post) gets an audience. But every story changes the person who tells it. This is mine. 

There’s a phrase in 1 Corinthians that I never can quite remember exactly, something like, "words that eyes will never see or songs that ears will never hear". It is meant to capture the tragedy of art that never finds an audience.

Lately, I’ve been feeling the same. I’ve been pouring my soul into a blog, technically visible to anyone, yet it feels like it’s floating in a void. I post. I share. I promote on social media. And still… silence.

Last night, I even showed my latest post to my wife. She glanced at it, maybe read a few lines, then set it aside without comment. I’m not upset with her, life is busy, and not everyone connects with the same things, but it was a quiet reminder that sometimes the people closest to us aren’t our audience.

So I’ve been wondering: maybe this blog isn’t for “them” at all. Perhaps it’s for me. Maybe it’s my mental health outlet, a place to get the thoughts out of my head before they pile up and start taking too much space. Perhaps it’s a conversation starter for friends, whether they’re people I’ve known for years or strangers I’ve never met who stumble across my words at 2 a.m.

And maybe, the act of writing is the point. Not the likes. Not the shares. Not the comments. Just the quiet satisfaction of shaping a thought into something tangible, sending it into the world, and letting it exist there, even if no one notices.

Because here’s the thing: unread words still matter. They matter to the person who wrote them. They matter to the mind that was unburdened in the process. And sometimes, they matter years later, when someone finally stumbles across them and feels less alone.

So I’ll keep writing. Even if the only eyes that ever see these words are my own.

Have you ever created something that felt like it disappeared into the void? I’d love to hear your story. What kept you going when no one seemed to notice? Drop a comment, send me a message, or share your own work; I’d be honored to read it.

Engines of Emotion: Why Our Hearts Keep Making Love

Even I’m amazed at how a single thought can wedge itself in my mind—refusing to let go, refusing to just be. Last night, I finished reading Dan Brown’s Origin. Near the end, a line struck me like lightning:

“Love is not a finite emotion. We don't only have so much to share. Our hearts create love as we need it.” — Dan Brown

That simple passage unraveled a thread of reflection. Why do some people believe love should be rationed or held back? Why do others feel they aren’t worthy of it? The idea that love is limited—that it must be earned, measured, or deserved—is a myth that quietly shapes how we live and connect.

This morning, on my drive to school, the first few songs that played were all about love. So, in classic Greg fashion, I asked my girlfriend Siri: “How many songs have the word ‘Love’ in the title?”

Her answer? Essentially endless. Since 2020 alone, 365 songs with love in the title have landed on top 100 charts. Love has inspired artists for generations. Just consider this sampling across 70 years:

• Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing – The Four Aces (1955)
• Love Me Tender – Elvis Presley (1956)
• Can’t Help Falling in Love – Elvis Presley (1961)
• Love Me Do – The Beatles (1962)
• You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’ – The Righteous Brothers (1964)
• L-O-V-E – Nat King Cole (1965)
• When a Man Loves a Woman – Percy Sledge (1966)
• All You Need Is Love – The Beatles (1967)
• Everlasting Love – Robert Knight (1967)
• To Love Somebody – Bee Gees (1967)
• Whole Lotta Love – Led Zeppelin (1969)
• I Will Always Love You – Dolly Parton (1974) Whitney Houston (1992)
• Love Hurts – Nazareth (1975)
• Lovin’ You – Minnie Riperton (1975)
• Silly Love Songs – Wings (1976)
• How Deep Is Your Love – Bee Gees (1977)
• Crazy Little Thing Called Love – Queen (1979)
• Endless Love – Diana Ross & Lionel Richie (1981)
• Tainted Love – Soft Cell (1981)
• What’s Love Got to Do with It – Tina Turner (1984)
• The Power of Love – Huey Lewis & The News (1985)
• Addicted to Love – Robert Palmer (1985)
• What About Love – Heart (1985)
• You Give Love a Bad Name – Bon Jovi (1986)
• Love Shack – The B-52’s (1989)
• Love Without End, Amen – George Strait (1990)
• Vision of Love – Mariah Carey (1990)
• Love, Me – Collin Raye (1991)
• Friday I’m in Love – The Cure (1992)
• I Love You Always Forever – Donna Lewis (1996)
• Crazy in Love – Beyoncé ft. Jay-Z (2003)
• Bleeding Love – Leona Lewis (2007)
• Make You Feel My Love – Adele (2008)
• Love Story – Taylor Swift (2008)
• We Found Love – Rihanna ft. Calvin Harris (2011)
• Love Me – Lil Wayne ft. Drake & Future (2013)
• Love Yourself – Justin Bieber (2015)
• Love on the Brain – Rihanna (2016)
• Someone You Loved – Lewis Capaldi (2018)
• Stupid Love – Lady Gaga (2020)
• Love Again – Dua Lipa (2021)
• Love Me More – Sam Smith (2022)
• Love Thief – Suzanne Vega (2025)
• Love Is Love – Kim Wilde (2025)

From ballads to pop anthems, love refuses to be boxed in.

And yet—we often treat it like a resource, something to be portioned out carefully, afraid it might run dry. But love doesn’t work that way. It isn’t a currency to be spent or a tank to be emptied. Love is renewable, spontaneous, and mysteriously abundant. It can be sparked by a glance, a memory, or even silence.

Our hearts aren’t vaults with limited reserves—they’re engines of emotion, capable of creating love as we need it. The more we give, the more we seem to have. Love expands with use, like a flame that grows brighter when shared.

Love also evolves. Infatuation may deepen into devotion. Friendship can blossom into romance. It adapts to the seasons of our lives, changing form but never losing essence.

And love is never payment. It isn’t a prize for good behavior or a debt to be repaid. True love is freely given; its power lies in that freedom. When it becomes about ownership or control, it ceases to be love at all.

Love is mysterious. It doesn’t always make sense. It leaps over logic, ignores boundaries, and often arrives without warning. That unpredictability is part of its magic—it reminds us that we are more than rational beings.

Love is creative. It fuels music, art, poetry, sacrifice, and tenderness. It drives us to build and to heal.

Love is also a practice. Not just a feeling, but a daily choice: to show up, to forgive, to listen, to grow.

So no, love is not finite. It is infinite in its capacity, unpredictable in its arrival, and quietly transformative in its power. Our hearts don’t run out—they rise. And maybe that’s the miracle: we are not just vessels for love, we are its source. We create it, even when we feel empty. Especially then.

If love is truly limitless, then we don’t need to ration it. We don’t need to wait until we feel “ready” or “worthy.” We can be generous with affection. We can love without keeping score, without guarding the exits.

Let your heart be a place where love is made, not measured. Let it be messy, overflowing, and real.

Why Am I Blogging - Again?

Nearly two decades ago, I retired my WordPress blog, An Examined Life. Back then, I thought I had said all I needed to say. Life moved on, responsibilities piled up, and the idea of blogging again felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford. These days, I’m so busy I sometimes have to schedule bathroom breaks just to survive the day.

So why start again? Why give The Ex4mined L1fe a shot?

Because writing is therapeutic. It’s how I keep the thoughts bouncing between my ears from ricocheting endlessly. Whether on paper or screen, journaling helps me process, reflect, and release.

In the not-so-distant past, I went through a series of traumatic events—personally and professionally—that shook me to my core. One of the hardest chapters was closing a proud parish school that had nearly reached its 200th anniversary. We had to find new homes for almost 200 children and two dozen staff members. No matter how solid you are as a leader, no one walks away from that unscathed.

And just before that, the world was thrown into the chaos of a once-in-a-century pandemic. We had no roadmap, no clear guidance, and yet we had to keep going. At times, I had to pull solutions out of thin air, praying that no one would get sick—or worse—because I was determined to keep our doors open. For the record, SSP School was the only school in the City of St. Louis that remained open for all 175 school days. Every day began and ended with stress, tension, and countless prayers.

Meanwhile, the criticism was relentless. Parents, teachers, staff, parishioners—everyone had something to say. My competence, leadership, compassion, and character were all called into question. It didn’t make me stronger. It made me doubt myself as an educator and as a human being.

Holding all that inside began to unravel the very fabric of who I was. The Greg I knew started to fade.

Long story short: I sought help. And I found it.

Today, I’m proud to say that the Old Greg is about 95% back. That remaining 5%? It held some things I’m better off without—immaturity, impulsiveness, judgment. I’ve learned that planning isn’t a weakness, and compassion isn’t optional.

So if blogging helps me stay grounded, polished, and maybe even a little wiser—then game on, my friends.

I’ll keep pounding away at this keyboard, taking one more swim before the season ends, airing up the bike tires, and letting the elliptical become my new adversary. Thank you for peeking in at The Ex4mined L1fe from time to time to see what thoughts I’m purging from between my ears.

If I can help even one person feel less alone, more understood, or simply more human—then it’s worth every keystroke.

We all have demons. Let’s help each other exorcise them—and get fit in the process.