He's Already Done Hard Things. . . and This Mamma Is Proud

TJ just finished his first year of college.

That sentence alone feels big.

A year of new routines, new expectations, and new independence. A year of figuring things out without the familiar rhythms of home. There’s a quiet kind of pride that comes with watching your child step into that—and stay in it.

This semester, TJ took an English class and had an assignment to, naturally, write a paper. He shared an early draft with me earlier in the semester. At first, it felt like a simple assignment—an essay about Camp Sea Gull, about sailing, about a place that has meant so much to our family over the years. But by the end of the semester, it evolved. His professor challenged them to revisit, refine, and deepen their work. It had become something more.

He wrote about fear. About failure. About getting back in the boat when everything in him once said not to. He wrote about doing something hard—and staying with it long enough to change.And reading it now, at the end of his first year of college, it’s hard not to see the connection.

Because this year has asked the same thing of him in different ways:

Show up.
Stick with it.
Figure it out.

There’s something powerful about realizing that the skills we hope our kids are building… they already are. Long before college. Long before we’re ready to see them on their own.

One of the lines from his story that stayed with me most is this: The place that once held his fear is now where he helps others find courage. That kind of growth doesn’t happen overnight. It comes from doing something hard—and then choosing to do it again. And maybe that’s why this moment feels like more than just the end of a school year.

It feels like evidence.

Evidence that he knows how to do hard things.

And as he heads into year two, I hope he remembers that too.

To Make Her Proud

In my latest post, I shared some reflections on TJ finishing his first year of college and mentioned a paper he wrote this semester that really stayed with me.

This is that paper.

What started as an English assignment evolved over the course of the semester into a much deeper and more reflective piece. By the end, it had become the equivalent of a final exam—and he absolutely knocked it out of the park.

To Make Her Proud: The Effects of Fears on Kids

    There it is, Sunfish Beach, brown and beat down from the countless hot summers that it has gone through with little to no repairs. The American flag blows calmly, an extreme contrast to its usual violent bashing against the mast. Sunlight sparkles off the muddy Neuse River, almost hiding its dullish color. Campers my age, counselors years older, and little kids years younger than I am gather around what feels like a sanctuary. For me though this place reeks of past trauma.

    It was the summer of 2022 and my ninth year and final year as a camper at Camp Sea Gull. By the third week of the four-week session, time was running out. If I wanted to accomplish any unfinished goals, I had to act. And one goal stood above the rest, earning my Sunfish Master rank.

    My mom is the biggest reason for me wanting to complete this goal I had set upon myself. She grew up at this same camp and later worked on the sailing staff. Sailing, ironically, was the place I disliked most. It was always her goal to have her kids fall in love with the sea just like she did and I, unlike my brother, came up short of that goal. Years before that summer during orientation I was placed on a sailboat with a friend. The counselors expected us to be unnatural and pick up right where we left off the previous summer. Instead, we got tossed and turned by the high winds and big swells that were out on the Neuse that day. After struggling for an eternity I gave up. I wanted nothing to do with Sailing for as long as I was at camp. As years went on I felt as if I failed to make my mom proud, a fear that resigned deep inside of me. Parenting styles and expectations can have a major role in shaping fears in teens, especially when kids feel pressure to meet those expectations (Haghshenas et al.). I set it upon myself that summer to get on a sailboat and get that rank.

    At 15 years old, it had felt like a long journey to get over my past trauma. Childhood fears often form through experiences and stick around over time, and even more so when tied to emotions or past failures (Muris et al.). Every step I took in the process of getting my Sunfish Master felt like a weight inside of me was being let go. Throughout the week of training I committed to the process and I felt at ease with my decision. My training partner Mitchell and I would sail together almost every activity period even on the highest of wind days. I forced my fear aside and trusted my training. I adjusted to the wind, balanced against the waves, and felt the boat respond beneath me. Sailing started to feel natural and then, unexpectedly, it turned into something close to enjoyment, like my mom felt when she was my age.

    As the week of training came to an end it was time to take the final on-water test. Unlike the previous training sessions before this time I was all by myself. Sailing by myself was a lot different than with Mitchell; I was getting scared again. The fear that I had long ago of sailing was coming back, and not only that, but the fear of disappointing my mom. Fears can return in stressful situations especially when people are put back into the places they connect with negatively (King et al.). I pushed those feelings aside and remembered why I was out there and found the enjoyment I had felt not too long ago. I tightened my grip on the sheet and used the rudder to tack and gybe around the buoys almost perfectly until the counselors came up to my boat to congratulate me. I not only went on a sailboat but I got my Sunfish Master rank which I knew deep down was for my mom and to make her proud.

    On closing day I showed my mom my red US Sailing handbook and the certificate tucked inside. She had no idea I had even attempted the rank and when she saw it, her face lit up. Children, in most cases, seek approval from their parents and getting that approval can have a big impact on their confidence and self-worth (Davis). In that moment I understood what the long hours, the fear, and the frustration had been for.

    Now that I am older, I have returned to Camp Sea Gull as a sailing counselor. The same beach that once felt like a place of failure has become the place where I build courage in campers. Research shows that summer camps help build confidence, independence, and leadership skills which is what I now try to develop in my campers day in and day out (Benefits of Summer Camps). After earning my Sunfish Master rank, I set a new goal, to help my campers fall in love with sailing just like my mom and I did.

P.S. "I'm not crying, you're crying." 

I Hope They Play Judas Priest in My Retirement Home

"Oh, so hot, no time to take a rest, yeah

Act tough, ain't no room for second best

Real strong, got me some security

Hey, I'm a big smash, I'm goin' for infinity"

Driving into work today Judas Priest's "You've Got Another thing Coming" popped into my mix. Its a song I use for my runs because it has a pounding beat and help me push through the slow spots.

"If you think I'll sit around as the world goes by

You're thinkin' like a fool 'cause it's a case of "do or die"

Out there is a fortune, waitin' to be had

You think I'll let it go? You're mad"

I got to thinking about where all of this music will be in twenty-five to thirty years. AC/DC, Motley Crue, Metallica, real hard bands with real hard music. I have a hopeful thought about me, forty years from now at the nursing home sitting in my adult diaper, eating my apple sauce, being forced to rewatch episodes of Friends, but rocking out to Van Halen with absolute abandon...

"You've got another thing comin'

You got another thing comin'

You got another thing comin'

You've got another thing"

Up yours old age, I'm fighting back.

 

Spring is for Track

Spring has a way of filling up the calendar before you quite realize it. And this year, it's all track. 

My boys. Both runners. Both freshmen. Different seasons. 

Grant's season was a slow build from recovery. The end of the indoor season had him sidelined, managing a knee that wouldn't cooperate-- swelling, questions, and more rest than he wanted. For someone as competitive as Grant is, that's its own kind of challenge. But somewhere in that pause, he got curious. He realized he needed to adjust his run form to avoid knee problems. He started studying his gait, making small adjustments, repeated trips to the PT, paying attention to the slightest details. 

And when outdoor season ramped up, so did his return. Not tentative, but ready. He's been back on his feet, back in races, and putting together a really strong freshman season. There is something satisfying about watching hard-earned comebacks, especially the kind built on patience and self-awareness that Grant has shown. 

One of the clearest markers of that growth came at the Carolina Distance Festival. Last year, as an 8th grader running unattached, he lined up (for the first time, at a big meet like this), and ran a 5:05.98 in the 1600. This year, he came back and ran a 4:36.18 (converted from his 4:37.82 mile). 

That's nearly 30 seconds faster in a year. Same meet. Same distance. More experienced runner.

TJ's season has looked different. Less about PRs, more about figuring things out. His point of contention has been the 800- two laps that demand just the right mix of restraint and risk-- but that elusive sub-2:00 barrier has been just that. . . elusive. 

2:01.49, 2:00.67. . again and again. Close enough to taste, not quite close enough to claim. To me, it feels mental now, that last thin line between where he is and where he knows he can be. 

But instead of staying stuck there, he's done something I admire, he's expanded. Stepped into something new. 

The Steeplechase. 

3000 meters.

28 barriers.

7 water jumps. 

It's part race, part Cross Country on a track. Rhythm matters. So does courage. Fixed barriers don't move like hurdles-- they ask more of you. The water jump adds a layer of complication (and let's be honest, a little fun). And somehow, in between all of that, you still have to run far. . . and fast. 

It's one thing to describe it, and another to see it. Rich captured TJ's first Steeplechase on video, and it tells the story better than I can. (Good job, honey)!

It's an event TJ has always been curious about, and this season he had the opportunity to go for it. To learn something new. To be bad at first, but to gradually improve. There is a quiet bravery in that as a college athlete. He's raced the event once already and will line up again this weekend at conference-- each time getting a little more comfortable with the rhythm, the spacing, the feel of it all. 

And then there are the weekends. 

Long days at meets. Deciding which meet to go to and when. Learning the cadence of each environment, each new team, each set of parents in the stands. I've found myself working hard to build a new community-- track moms (and dads) in folding chairs, trading schedules, cheering for kids who aren't our own-- and meaning it, and slowly becoming familiar faces to each other. Working hard to find my footing again after TJ graduated from Willow Spring and Grant stepped into a new school. We're getting there.

It's been busy. Full. Sometimes a little chaotic. 

But mostly, it's been really, really good. 

Spring is for track. 

For comebacks and breakthroughs.

For near misses and new risks. 

For finding your stride, both on the track and alongside it. 

And for now, I wouldn't trade these weekends for anything.  

When They Call Each Other

There’s a part of parenting no one really prepares you for. It’s not the college drop-off, or the goodbye, or even the quiet house. It’s the not knowing.

TJ is knee deep into his second semester in college, and staying in touch is inconsistent at best. I’ve tried to keep my expectations low—a quick “I’m alive” text, maybe a phone call here and there. I don’t want to be the mom who hovers or nags, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still want to know everything. His highs and lows. Who his friends are. What’s stressing him out. If he’s eating well. If he’s sleeping at all.

I’ve had to get creative. I check his Strava to see when he runs and try to understand all the comments. I watch for the occasional Instagram reel he sends. Little glimpses into a life I’m no longer part of in the same way. And that’s been the hardest part—not being in the rhythm of his everyday life.

But here’s the part I didn’t expect.

What has brought me the most joy in this season isn’t when TJ calls me. It’s when he calls his brother.

Sometimes it happens when I’m in the car with Grant driving home from school. The phone rings, and it’s TJ. And I get to listen—not as the main character in the conversation, but as a quiet observer. A fly on the wall. Over time, I’ve learned to stay there, to not jump in or redirect, but to just listen.

Most of the time, it’s nonsense. Banter. Jokes. Running talk. Social media memes, things that a 55 year old just does not understand. But its the kind of back-and-forth that only brothers understand. And every once in a while, there’s something more. TJ asking Grant how his race went. Checking in on his year at a new school. Offering a quick piece of advice. And Grant, in his own way, receiving it—asking questions, letting his guard down just enough.

It’s subtle. Easy to miss if I'm not paying attention. But I see it. And it stops me every time.

Because calling your mom is expected. Calling your brother is a choice.

There’s something unfiltered about it. Something real. They aren’t performing or protecting. They’re just themselves. And in that space, I get to see who they are becoming—not just as individuals, but as brothers.

For a long time, I thought my role was to stay closely connected to them forever—to be the one they came to for everything. But I’m starting to see it differently. Maybe parenting success isn’t measured by how often they call me. Maybe it’s that they call each other.

I’m still figuring out what it looks like to be the mom of a college student. I’m still learning when to reach out and when to hold back, still adjusting to the space. But in the middle of all that, I get these glimpses—small, ordinary phone calls between brothers—and they remind me that even though things are changing, the most important things are holding steady.

Brothers aren’t just family; they’re a lifelong support system. And somehow, in the letting go, I get to watch that take shape.

Wet Shoes

A pile of wet, stinky, sometimes still snow covered shoes and boots is a staple of any home in the snow belt. It is the result of putting on boots to go shovel, shoes to go and run errands, and something else to run to the mailbox. For some inexplicable reason, each of these tasks seems to require a different set of footwear which then accumulates by the front door.  

Last week we anticipated the biggest snowstorm in two decades. By some atmospheric miracle, the storm almost completely missed us and dumped over a foot of snow in Charlotte and inches as far south as Myrtle Beach.  However, we still got enough to cover the roads, shutdown everything, and add to our collective Cabin Fever.  

Harking back to our New York days, we bundled up to take Lucie for a walk and assess the two inches we received for snowman making and sledding opportunities. Snow is pretty for a few minutes and then it's just a frigid nuisance. Nonetheless, we stayed out in it for an hour, swept and shoveled some out of the driveway, and played with the neighbors kids until everyone got cold.  

Grant? Grant hardly poked his head out the door and was not interested in making fun in the snow. He did go out to learn how to drive in it, but a Subaru sticks to the road in all kinds of conditions. TJ got a dusting at college and wished he had more. Snow is more fun when you are young there are many peers looking for something to do.  Lisa made a snowman and got plugged with a couple of snowballs for her effort. Me? I recalled days back when snow was a part of everyday life.   

Back when the snow I shoveled from the driveway was three feet deep in the yard and made for great snow forts. When you drove in snow squalls and it looked like flying in hyperspace. When snow was not a once a year "treat". When a pile of wet shoes was a constant reminder of winter.  

Walk for Peace

The Walk for Peace is a long-distance pilgrimage by Buddhist monks from the Huong Dao Vipassana Bhavana Center in Fort Worth, TX, to Washington, D.C., promoting peace, compassion, and nonviolence. Monks carry signs and engage with the public through quiet presence and peaceful interaction rather than political messaging. 

It passed through Raleigh over the horrible winter weather weekend. 

The walk began in Fort Worth, Texas, following a route through the southeastern United States, passing through states including Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia. 

The path then went north through the Carolinas, on it's way to Virginia before concluding in Washington, D.C. - over 2,300 miles in all. The monks maintain a meditative walking pace and pause in various communities along the way to engage with local residents and share their message.  

Somehow, this walk has become "a thing" to draw in tens of thousands of people who would normally - probably - just dismiss it as an attention seeking gag.  People have been tracking the monks for over a week and everyone seemed to know that they were passing through Raleigh and wouldn't it be cool to see them?

But why? They are just a bunch of men in robes dedicated to their faith and their mission. People do extraordinary act to bring awareness to some thing all the time - yet they do not attract the public's attention like the monks do.

Maybe it's their mindfulness, or spirituality, or dedication what we all wish we could find in ourselves and therefore look up to in the acts of others.    

I think it is because we all need someone, or something, that rises above all of the awful, hateful rhetoric that is dividing the nation. We need a symbol of peace and the brotherhood of man that is so desperately lacking from any of our elected leaders. Some people are just tired of being so fucking angry all the time that they have stopped engaging with family and friends who have been incited to be angry all the time. Something to bring us back to an emotional and spiritual center. 

And so I found myself driving out towards Jordan Lake on Highway 64 to see if I could see them. At first I thought I missed them because I could not find them on their map tracker. Then I saw a car on the side of the road and a few people with signs. I didn't miss them. For the next 6 miles I drove to find a good spot to watch them. For the next 6 miles the sides of the road filled with parked cars. A dozen people? No, thousands. Thousands of people. All of these people looking for a little peace.

We saw the flashing blue lights of the police escort about a quarter mile away as they approached. And then a weird thing happened. 

The crowd went quiet. Church quiet. Then the sound of feet on the pavement. Then it was over. For a just moment it seemed like the world went on mute and slow motion at the same time before returning to normal.

Just like that they walked on. The monks in silence as a low murmur grew among us who they has passed. Just like that it was over and a majority of us returned to our cars and drove off.  

I can't tell you that I feel any of those things, more centered, or mindful, or spiritual. But I wouldn't discount it either. I am glad I was out there to witness them and I was happy to go out there and see so, so many others like me.