You get busy, you have a million things going on, and of course you have to have your sights set on what’s next, you have to know where you’re headed well before you get there. That makes perfect sense. But every now and then, don’t forget to look up, as advised in the following reflection.

Don’t Forget to Look Up

Don’t forget to look up. You might see an owl, a hawk, or something spectacular like an eagle in the treetop, or something magnificent, like the very top of a 200-foot-tall pine tree swaying and whispering in the wind, a tree that has been standing in that same spot for more than two centuries. You might see a purple and gold, orange and red, cloud-scalloped sunset sky. You might see a densely packed flock of birds, shape shifting, flying furiously as one, going together to someplace important in a manner that only they understand. You might see a cloudless sky, a deep azure blue dome that goes on forever and inspires you to dream. There is a grand, awe-inspiring life going on above you—always there, always going on—that might elevate your mood, connect you with magnificence, or certainly help you put the problems of the day in proper context.

Don’t forget to look to the side. There you will see your colleagues, your good friends, your brother, your sister, and your life partner. They’re helping you, working with you, laughing at your jokes, listening to your stories, listening for what matters to you, trying their best to understand what you think is important. They see you, they know you, they appreciate you. Cultivate your team, prioritize your relationships. The ride is richer and the bumps are softer. Look to your side and remember, you’re all on the journey together, so lean on each other when you need to, or even just when you want to.

Don’t forget to look down. You might see an old fallen tree, just a log now, a new home for bright green moss, the bottom surface merging itself with the soil of the forest floor; a tree that was just a seed hundreds of years ago, that probably grew to more than100 feet, stood tall for 200 years, then weakened and fell 50 years ago, and is now growing moss and fertilizing the ground around it for the next tiny seedling. You might see all of that if you look down. All that life, all those years, in that one spot where you stand. You might see a stone that’s been built into the base of a rock wall, a stone scraped and rutted from its travels through the ice age, but still reflecting the sun in tiny flecks of mineral, a stone that has seen a world that quite possibly no human being has ever seen, and now this very same stone is resting at your feet, holding other stones on its back, still standing guard, marking the perimeter of a field that has long since disappeared to become a forest. You might remember relatives, teachers, mentors, and other inspirational people that you no longer see. You might reflect on where you’ve been, who has helped you, who has inspired you, who and what came before you that gave you the opportunity you have now. We grow from the foundation that has been provided and we build something to enable others to do the same. Don’t forget to look down, it might be your dog or your cat reminding you of the lasting bond between you. It might be your child, someday, that you see looking up at you, looking right into your heart. Don’t forget to look down, feel humbled, fill yourself with appreciation and think about how you are adding to the foundation for all.

Don’t forget to look inside. Give yourself a break sometimes and appreciate the person you already are just as you embrace the person you are always trying to become. You are kind, sensitive, compassionate, warm-hearted, generous, patient, thoughtful, fair-minded and considerate. You are smart, funny, a good story teller, a good listener, a good problem solver. You are a good partner, a good teammate, a good friend, a treasured family member, and a responsible citizen of the world. You are resourceful, resilient and strong, which means every day can be full of promise. You struggle, you make mistakes, you say and do things you wished you hadn’t. You’re human. You’re a work in progress, we all are. You apologize, make amends, commit to do better the next time. You don’t give up. You’re not afraid of hard work and you know how to ask for help. Think about the people you admire, stories that inspire you. Remember to look inside, and at the end of the day, be proud of your own story.

Don’t forget to look behind you, into the longer shadow that you now cast. There you will see your parents. They are there to celebrate you, to marvel at your accomplishments, to share in your joy, to bask in your glory and pride. They know that your life is your own spotlight now, but they are there to cheer you on, to inspire you, to encourage you, to listen to your stories of mishap, amusement, adventure, and accomplishment. And they are there to help you up when you stumble. You can expect to be forever cared for. You can expect to be listened to with patience, appreciated, and treated with kindness and respect. Turn around whenever you need to, they are there when you might need someone to show you the way. They are there to lean on when you need a rest, when you need to unload a burden, when you need someone to help you think of what’s best. They are even there to carry you for part of the way if you need that. But have no doubt, they will always show up.

So, look ahead and watch where you’re going most of the time. Just ahead you might even see the moon laying down a pale orange path across the still and inky waters of the lake at night, but remember, every now and then, don’t forget to look up.

Love, Dad

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The outer petals of the iris attract admiration and create quite a show, but if you look closer you can see that their inner petal beauty is even more impressive.

What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.
— Ralph Waldo Emerson

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He’s parked on the couch in front of the TV when I come in the door, but it takes no convincing at all to get him into the garage looking for the Frisbees. I can’t get into my sweats fast enough so my suit and tie and my white pinpoint oxford shirt just lay deflated on the chair near the closet as I race downstairs. We get the music playing full volume on the outdoor speakers. Let someone complain, I’ll just put my arm around my son and say, “Gabe’s home.”

Gabe takes the far end of the field; he’s going to do most of the running and he knows I relish the challenge of sailing the Frisbee completely off the far edge of the field—if the wind is just right and my arm holds out.

We start out with a few easy throws (the old man has to warm up), and soon we have pinpoint accuracy, taking great pride in ensuring the other doesn’t even have to take a step to catch the flying disc, often hitting the other right in the hands. We both wait for the other to begin to crank it up, for the disc to launch like a comet. When slightly off target, only the explosive and lightning quick can catch up to it.

Back and forth the disc flies and both of us sprint, leap and crash—into the trees, onto the ground—until we’re out of breath, soaked in sweat, bruised and a little battered. Time is frozen as the moment stretches across the warm afternoon. No one wants to stop because neither of us ever knows when this will happen again, and our ordinary life just doesn’t measure up to this kind of experience very often.

The old man is amazed that the young guy can throw that thing with such power and accuracy. The young guy shakes his head and smiles at what the old guy can make that disc do. They’re both gasping for air when they hug each other in the middle of the field and walk back to the house with their Frisbees and their stories.

It’s time to make the marinade for the fish and set up the fire pits. People are coming over tonight. Dusk will fill in behind the early evening sunset, the string lights will glow above the deck, torches will flare their warm light, the oak fires will crack and burn, and the music will echo off the clapboard walls and carry out into the night. Gabe will visit with our friends, hopefully hang around longer than expected, and then we will lose track of time as we get lost in the warmth of this moment with our friends.

I head to the shower with a glass of wine, loose and warm from the afternoon Frisbee with Gabe and heartened by the anticipation of the evening.

Strive to be as present as possible and let the moment capture you fully. It’s only here once.

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I believe your defense is a week from this Friday. So, soon you’ll defend your dissertation, reach the end of a long journey. But Gabe, man, how about that! You’ll have your Ph.D.—Dr. Gabriel Plummer—not even sure for most of that journey that you really wanted to get your Ph.D. Well, I just want to get out in front of that, because I can’t wait to say how proud I am, how incredibly impressed I am, and how much I deeply admire what you have accomplished. 

You didn’t just get your Ph.D., you had to switch schools after two years, and after completing the graduate coursework for organizational psychology at Georgia Tech, you had to complete the graduate work in communications at Northwestern.

 You didn’t just get your Ph.D., you worked on the mission to Mars, for crying out loud. You ran a major lab, mentored students, brokered compromises and solutions among high-powered academics, worked out so many problems that must have seemed, at times, far from advancing your own cause. 

You didn’t just get your Ph.D., you traveled the country and around the world with your work. You also made some incredible friends—people who really came to know you well, people who appreciated who you are, people who genuinely cared about you, people who encouraged you when you needed it, people who lifted you up, people who celebrated you.

You didn’t just get your Ph.D., you moved from Atlanta to Chicago and formed an even closer adult relationship with your brother in Ann Arbor. You lived with him while you worked one summer, you spent countless weekends together, went to festivals together, played kickball together, and played I don’t know how many hours of complicated games of strategy. You made that happen Gabe, you brought that about, don’t think I didn’t notice. That so much warms my heart, like you have done so many other times.

 You got your Ph.D., but along the way, you accomplished so much more, made yourself so much more, grew so much more, experienced so much more, made the experience count for so much more, and so you graduate with riches well beyond a Ph.D. You did all that Gabe; it was all you. I just think you’re incredible. I hope someday you have a child who makes you feel the way I do about you.

From CDC to Peace Dale, to Broad Rock and then the high school, to Connecticut College (and Copenhagen), Georgia Tech and finally Northwestern, Gabe you have been in school nonstop for more than 22 years, more than 80% of your life. The last day of school is upon you. I really wish I could give you a hug. 

Love, Dad

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Let’s face it, no one ever likes to get advice, unless they’re in the midst of a crisis, and they especially don’t like to get “fatherly” advice, particularly on a birthday (so, a triple violation). 

But this is not advice about a problem, a lifeline to bail you out after a fatal decision, or words to alter the doomed course your life is so set on taking. Such advice that is needed most is most unwelcome because it is directed to those who don’t want to do it (or they would have done it) or don’t think they can do it (or they would have done it).

But you, Gabe, are already doing it. So my advice is more like cheering on your favorite team as they march down the field with incredible skill, while showing an amazing blend of determination, composure under pressure, breathtaking raw talent, brute force, quick thinking, clear-sighted vision and an attack that is well-balanced.

So here are my four pieces of advice as you march on past 25 in glorious fashion.

Seek work that stirs your passion. You are unstoppable when you’re passionate about what you do (and when you’re not passionate you’re prone to misery).

Fun is like a nutrient your body and soul needs. Find the fun and use it to make the rest more bearable. 

Work with, play with, and hang out with people that make you laugh, that stir your creativity, that share your sense of adventure and match your ability to get things done when it matters. I think you are particularly energized by being part of a tremendous team, surrounded by people who can keep up. 

People matter a great deal to you—they fuel you—but not just any people. Some people can snuff out the light of your spirit and suck the life right out of you. Spend as much time as possible with people who appreciate you, people who see the best in you, people who celebrate what matters to you, people who encourage you and lift you up, and people who can support you and lead the way when you need it.  

At 25 I think you have a pretty good idea about what makes a good life, and probably nothing I am advising now surprises you. Perhaps you already see yourself this way and strongly believe in all these things. I’m just cheering you on and further encouraging you. Your first quarter century has been an amazing journey, a good time to reflect on what you know about yourself and what matters most. 

Know what you need and pursue what you need to be your best, and I’ll keep cheering you on, because the world needs people like you at their best.

Happy 25th birthday, Love Dad

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You are such a solid, grounded, and totally wonderful person; and like so many people, I’m so proud to say I know you, and I’m so thrilled to think that I get to share a substantial part of your life. But unlike all those other people, I have something they don’t have. My life, every moment of my life, is inextricably bound together with your life—even when we are not together, not sharing the current moment—because you—this lovable and amazing person—are my daughter, and I get to be your father, and—I have to tell you—that is the most extraordinary, most life-affirming feeling imaginable. I can’t tell you how many times in a difficult week that I think about that. That is my “blue sky.” Happy birthday Rachie. You are an incredible gift to me.

Love, Dad.

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Take good care of yourself and get what you need in your life
to stay balanced and healthy. Watch your stress. You will continue
to do things that are hard, that are stressful at times, and you will handle yourself well, but our world needs people like you at their best,
so put yourself first sometimes and take good care of yourself.

Spend more of your time with people who really know you
and appreciate who you are, people who genuinely care about you,
people who encourage you and lift you up,
people who can selflessly celebrate your life.
Don’t let anyone suck the light out of your life or give you back
so much less than what you deserve.

Tolerate your mistakes and don’t let “getting it wrong”
define you or trigger your fears.
Measure success by how willing you are to keep trying—
again and again—despite getting it wrong.
Trust the process and trust yourself
and keep your sights set on where you’re going.

Advocate for yourself, stick up for yourself,
stick by what you believe in.
You are one of the most sensible and reasonable people I know.
Don’t get caught up in making other people happy.

Maintain your good sense of humor and find
people who appreciate that and can make you laugh.

Happy birthday, my 21 year old amazing young woman.

You are more amazing than I ever could have dreamed you would be.

Live your dream and be the person you want to be.

Love, Dad

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I wrote a note to Gabe about gratitude (see, you’re not the only one who has to deal with that) that he probably put in his “read that later” folder, or his “skim this for the general gist” folder. But the last part of it I thought I would share with you because it is a tribute to the amazing little people I brought into this world and how those little people made a father. Thought you would like it (don’t just skim it).
(the part about gratitude was the first two sections, and then I followed that with this). . .

I was shoveling the driveway yesterday—it was tough, heavy stuff—and I thought of you, how you used to help me shovel, the tube path we built and the note I wrote about it on your 17th birthday. I had just had a conversation with Grandma who wanted to discuss what she thinks it takes to raise children the right way. So as I’m shoveling the driveway and thinking about all this I wish I had told her something that I am going to tell you. I became a father the day my first child was born, but then I learned how to be a father for the next 26 years. I remember, for example, that I really was a such a hapless story teller and an even worse writer.

I learned how to tell stories and I learned how to listen from the many nights sitting in your room as you were falling asleep, and I learned how to write because Mom had an idea that we should write to each of our children on their birthdays. In many ways you, Ben and Rachel have enabled me to become the person I am today (not just the parent I am today). I didn’t start out this way, you guys made me this way, and if I’m a good parent I owe it to all of you. I had no choice. You were amazing little people. I had to give you what you deserved, and for that, I had to get a lot better at it.

Love Dad

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You were sleeping over a friend’s house when I discovered that our basement (with years of accumulated storage) was under water. A thousand gallons of muddy water, still flowing in at a rapid rate, soaked a multitude of boxes and countless possessions. The entire mess had to be moved outside. In a minute I knew it was too much to do, even with Rachel and Mom helping.

It was 7:00am and I really didn’t want to summon you home from your sleep over, where I was sure you had not gotten much sleep, but I had no choice. I knew I couldn’t do it without your help. “Tell Gabe we need him right now. It’s an emergency,” I told Mom. You were not happy, but you never mentioned it after you arrived. You saw the disaster and you got right to work hefting boxes and hauling buckets of water up the stairs and out to the back yard.

Five hours later we finally had it under control, but now it was time for you to go to tennis practice, where you were fighting for a starting position. Your personal goals suffered that day because your family needed you.

Many times I have been able to depend on your help. Every year I get a mountain of mulch delivered and every year you shovel and haul and shovel some more until I can easily manage the rest on my own. I have never had to ask you to help me shovel the driveway, and when I offered to clear a neighbor’s driveway, you were by my side and keeping pace then, as well. And then there was the rock wall. You worked with me in the hot sun, with the sweat and the dirt and the buggy woods, prying the rocks from deep in the ground, then lifting and dragging, pushing and rolling the load back to the house. Anyone who wanted to get a glimpse of your character just had to watch the way you helped me with the wall.

You started volunteering at the hospital as a way to fulfill your community service hours for National Honor Society. You didn’t stop when you reached the required amount, you returned every week for the entire school year. You did the same thing the next year and the year after that. They loved you at the hospital Gabe. They loved your dedication, your reliability and commitment, your attitude and the way you were so happy to help them out. They use a lot of volunteers, people of all ages, but last year they selected you, Gabe, as their volunteer of the year.

You are a loyal friend.
You have been a mentor to younger students and to new volunteers
You will help anyone who needs it.
You lead by your own example and many people have recognized that.

I admire your kindness and your compassion, your friendship and your passion. You are a person I respect; a person I can count on. I am enormously proud of you and I commend you for what you have achieved and for who you are.

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