Aim for the moon.

Dear friend,

You’re going to die. I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about that. Mostly I’ve been thinking about how I’ll be thinking and feeling and what I’ll be saying when that eventuality becomes my reality.

Here’s what I hope to be able to say:

I did everything I could do to spend quality time with you. I did everything I could do. I did my very best to be the best son I could be.

No regrets. No wishes that’ll never be granted. I can take the hit that I never got my PhD. I can take the hit that I didn’t advance in my career as fast as I otherwise might have. I can take the hit that I don’t have as much money as I otherwise might have. I can’t take the hit that I left precious family moments on the table. Life’s too short. And it moves too fast.

For a while I was close to hating you. I called this thought pattern “The Dad Chip” and it went something like this:

Joe, you’ll never be what you could have otherwise been. You could have been great…

I was never much good at wrestling, but in each of baseball, golf, engineering, … I could have been somebody.

That’s a pretty incredible tragedy because it’s a self fulfilling prophecy. For sure— I could have been more. But we don’t get to rewrite history. What matters is what I do moving forward. Do I live to be the best man I can be? Do I buckle under the pressure of what could or should or might be?

Here’s what I’ve come to accept. Trying to “become somebody” implies that I’m not enough on my own. It implies that I must change my trajectory.

In controls engineering, we study the physics of feedback loops. “The Dad Chip” creates what’s called a positive feedback loop which creates an unstable system. Unstable systems drive themselves to catastrophic mechanical failure.

I need a different kind of feedback loop. One that attenuates noise and keeps me focused on my long-term goals and objectives (e.g. being the best son I can possibly be). I need to be resilient (better yet, anti-fragile) to the world around me as I pursue my goals. I need self talk that will keep me on track.

I need to say:

I am loved. I am safe. I belong. I am enough.

This gets harder to do with anxiety and depression. It gets harder when guilt, shame, and doubt are your constant companions. And, yet, you provided us the tools to make lemonade of life’s lemons.

The talk of trajectories reminds me of rocket ships. Keeping a rocket pointed straight upwards with thrusters hundreds of feet from the tip is quite the physics problem. It represented the first time that nonlinear controls was really valuable to the human race. I just read Pale Blue Dot by Carl Sagan. Oh! What wonders we’re capable of! And I learned that math. I don’t regret leaving it behind for greener pastures.

And now the talk of rocket ships reminds me of your favorite quotes to share with me:

Aim for the moon, even if you miss you’ll land among the stars.

Which reminds me of another favorite quote:

Well, Ken. It’s simple. The US team is starting to believe.

Which reminds me of another favorite quote:

Again. Again. Again. … Blow the whistle, Craig… Again.

Which reminds me of:

Coach, why me?

When I look at you. I see two men. The man you are, and the man you oughta be. Someday those two men will meet… and it should make for one helluva football player.

Which brings me back to My Dad Chip and how I almost hated you for a while.

And that reminds me of one last movie quote:

But… Jesus, Jack!

You’ll have to forgive me if the movie quotes are slightly off, but that’s right on brand for us.

Anyway, I was mad and frustrated and disappointed and sad. For a while I was on track for The Dark Side. It’s not your fault. All you ever did was love and support us and wish for the best for us.

I’m sure you’ll read this and be confused about why I chose to write it. I’m sure you’ll say “Look. I did the best I could do and that’s all I could do.” Or “Look. I’m retired. I’m sorry for anything I did wrong, but it’s done now.”

I don’t disagree. But this note shared semi-anonymously isn’t only for you. It’s for me… so that when you’re gone I can remember what it was like when you were still here.

At every turn, you met hardship head on. And you won. Because you’re passionate, determined, caring, focused, resilient.

Dad, you are antifragile. The hardships of life made you a better man. We’re better for it. Thank you. For everything.

Yours,

JT

P.S. Happy Birthday!