I would rather be an honest fool than a polished liar. That's the whole philosophy. Everything else is just practice. Started a new thing called The Honest Fool. Weekly field notes on staying human in an absurd world. 🧵
My daughter is still an honest fool. She hasn't learned to stop asking because the answer might make her look foolish. She just wants to know if Wally gets bacon. And honestly? That's a better question than most theology I've read.
Children ask ridiculous questions because they don't think they know yet. Adults don't ask because we think we figured it out. But did we? Or did we just accept an answer and stop interrogating it?
Missing the point entirely: A little girl just wants to know if her dog is happy. We learn to ask complicated questions that sound sophisticated instead of simple questions that sound ridiculous. We stop questioning what we think we already know.
I'd given her a system (heaven). She was still questioning the system (does it have bacon?). I've taught the Bible for 18 years. No one has ever asked me if God cooks bacon. But theologians would argue over it for hours - animal souls, resurrection bodies, eschatology.
A year after our dog Wally died, my daughter asked: "Does God cook bacon?" I had no answer. Not because it's ridiculous, but because she was asking something I'd stopped questioning the moment I gave her "dogs go to heaven."
New essay: "Success" - first in my 30 Words series. Also includes a free downloadable reflection guide if you want to work through your own thinking on any of the 30 words.
Success is what you did. It's not what you are. The moment you think "I've made it" is the moment you stop actually doing anything and start performing the role of someone who made it.
Money doesn't make you successful. It makes you a person with money. Power doesn't make you successful. It makes you a person with power. Fame doesn't make you successful. It makes you a person everyone's watching. That's exhausting, not aspirational.
We've convinced ourselves that success is a permanent state - something you achieve and then maintain forever. Like you can finally arrive and just stay there. But nobody stays successful. You have an event, then you're back to being a regular person.
My son was stacking blocks yesterday. Stack them up, knock them down, repeat. He wasn't trying to win. He was just doing it because he wanted to. That's not success. That's just living.
You can go to the waterfall to make memories with your kids, but taking pictures from the trail doesn't create memories; it creates a photo album. Get in the water (or at least tell them to get wetter).
For me? I never started. Dysfunctional childhood. Play wasn't safe. So when I encourage my kids to get soaked, I'm not just letting them play. I'm breaking a cycle. Giving them what I never had. Maybe healing something in myself.
Then I noticed the eyes. Other hikers at the top of the trail. Staring. Raised eyebrows. My wife: "Maybe what we're doing is frowned upon." By whom? For what? We were just playing in water.
Field Notes from a Barrel #4 just dropped: "When Did We Stop Playing?" Took my kids to a waterfall. They played in the water; Thor's Hammer, mermaids, tag. I encouraged them from the shore: "Get wet! That's what the extra clothes are for!"
Cruelty is obedience to a system that wants you to be cruel. Compassion is rebellion against it. When you mock someone for being confused, you're doing the system's work for free. Full essay: open.substack.com/pub/honestfo...
Marcus Aurelius: "the culprit himself, who is my brother." Not because we're related, but because we're both human, both stumbling through the same absurd world, both infected by the same systems.
My pastor used to say: "Don't ask why someone is acting that way. Ask what happened to that person to make them act that way." That question shifts from judgment to curiosity. From mockery to compassion.
I saw a Facebook comment on an overdose story: "It was their own fault." Years ago, I would've attacked them. Now I know: they're not evil. They're running code. Old beliefs about addiction that have been killing people for decades.
Most people have opinions about stuff that doesn’t matter to them at all. We don’t form opinions anymore. We shop for them. New essay: We Don’t Have Opinions; We Just Pick Up the Ones on Sale.
The 48-hour rule I'm trying: Before sharing any take that feels too perfect, wait 48 hours. Most of the time? The moment passes. I realize I never actually cared—just cared about seeming like I cared.
Compassion asks: "What can I actually do?" Performance asks: "What should I be seen saying?" Most of us are renting our convictions by the month. Subscription-based certainty.
