On August 24, 2025, I pressed “publish” on the first post of my newly repurposed blog, The Examined Life. Truth be told, this blog actually began in the early 2000s. Like many things in life, it had seasons of energy… and seasons of neglect. It was abandoned a few times, resurrected a few times, and dormant long enough that I eventually had to rebrand it Ex4minedl1fe — not out of creativity, but necessity. I couldn’t remember the original password. I was 63 after all. The memory? Let’s just say it’s more steel sieve than steel trap.
But here we are. One hundred and fifty posts later.
More than 2,500 years ago, Socrates suggested that a life left unexamined isn’t much of a life at all. He believed meaning begins when we dare to question what we think and why we think it. That idea has followed me for years.
An examined life requires courage. It asks us to slow down, reflect, and confront the truth —even when it’s uncomfortable. When we ask better questions, we begin to know ourselves more honestly. We learn to separate truth from noise, justice from popularity, wisdom from impulse.
And in a world flooded with information, some of it helpful, much of it misleading, thoughtful reflection has never mattered more. Avoiding the truth doesn’t make it disappear. Ignorance settles like stagnant water, still, murky, breeding things that don’t serve us. But curiosity? Curiosity moves. It flows like a river, shaping rock over time, bringing life wherever it travels.
The next half dozen blogs after that first post wandered into spirituality—scripture reflections, deeper questions of faith, even observations about how men and women often experience midlife differently. Those posts weren’t written as a theologian or sociologist. They were written as a pilgrim.
Then came something far more personal. I wrote about reigniting the embers of my own life.
There was a season when I was hurting — mentally, spiritually, internally. I needed to get healthy. Not for applause. Not for approval. I had an audience of one: myself. And yet, I kept pressing publish.
Every day, I purged thoughts that were taking up space between my ears. Blogging became therapy without a couch. Writing was how I swept out mental clutter and let light in. It was less about building an audience and more about rebuilding alignment.
Somewhere along the way, something unexpected happened. A small following formed.
Conversations started. Bridges were built. I received the occasional “atta boy” for saying things others had been thinking but hadn’t yet voiced. That humbles me more than you know.
Then, because life cannot be all introspection and heavy lifting, we wandered into lighter territory — my appreciation for Bill Bryson, weird corners of history, word etymologies, and the hidden meanings behind nursery rhymes. We explored Christmas traditions together — good times, good memories, shared nostalgia.
More recently, the writing has circled inward again. I’ve reflected on heritage, embracing roots that took me decades to fully own. I’ve written about communicating effectively with everyone we serve. I’ve wrestled with forgiveness and boundaries — learning that accepting people for who they are does not automatically grant them unlimited access to your life.
After all, even CEOs decide who gets promoted and who gets demoted, especially when I'm the CEO of my own Life! Grace and wisdom are not opposites.
And just today, I asked the timeless question in a deeper way: What do you want to be when you grow up? Not in terms of career, but calling. Not success, but service. Who are you called to serve? Where is your ministry meant to land? Who needs your steady presence?
Blog #1 was special.
So was #10.
#50 mattered.
#100 felt surreal.
And now #150.
I can hardly wait for #175… or #200.
To the ten faithful followers, and the twenty to sixty who quietly check in for a daily peek, thank you. You are not statistics. You are encouragement. You are my inspiration. You are the quiet reason I keep typing.
This has never been about going viral. It has always been about going deeper.
So let’s keep asking.
Let’s keep thinking.
Let’s keep examining.
Let’s keep this rolling until the wheels fall off the bus. Even then, we’ll probably find new tires.
Still learning.
Still growing.
Still examining.
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