​I think most days I get out of bed and I am quietly asking life this grand question, "Who are you?"

Lately, though, I've come to realize just how often I do not hear the echo of that question - how often I do not hear life asking me back, "Who are you?"

When I was almost 30 years old, I left Ohio, where I'd grown up and lived all my life, to live on the coast of North Carolina. I didn't know a soul there. I was taking on a job completely out of the realm of any work I'd ever done. Why? To be honest, it felt like I was chasing an answer:

Who are you, life?

Several years later, I got married. Something I'd sworn I'd never do. And really, up until just a few months before that marriage, it was a pledge I was fully committed to keeping. And yet, here was another big shift in life. And to be honest, it felt like I was still chasing an answer:

Who are you, life?

Nearly 8 years later, we had a son. This in spite of us agreeing when we got married that we'd never have kids. I don't know why I - and we - changed our minds. In many ways it felt like we were chasing an answer:

Who are you, life?

Twenty two years after I got married, I left that marriage. Divorce. Certainly something I swore I'd never do. And in many ways, I had reached a point in my life where it felt like life had no answers at all. The chase to find them had been pointless, I was starting to concede. And what is the point of life if there are no answers?

Yesterday, I left a job I'd been at for well over a decade. A job built on the work I started in eastern North Carolina some thirty years before when I left Ohio. For many reasons, this job had been the most meaningful job of my life.

As I walked away, I could feel the thunder of another momentous shift in my life. But I did not ask any questions. I just walked away. In silence. And it was in that silence that I think I heard an echo - life - returning the question I'd asked for nearly six decades.

"Who are you?"

Maybe life isn’t something I am to chase down and figure out. Maybe life has been moving toward me all along, shaping me, waiting for me to become someone who can finally say yes. Maybe I have never been the one chasing at all.

We go through life thinking we are seeking answers from it, and yet, all the while, it is life that is shaping the answers in us.

While we are chasing, life is molding. How different are they, really - the chasing and the molding?

It's true, life continues to confuse me. It can leave me feeling like there are no answers. But I am reminded lately, most certainly and profoundly in this writing, that life is not about finding answers, it is about becoming one.

I am a Facebook creator. I’m not entirely sure what that even means, but it gives me access to analytics. Analytics I don’t look at often, because honestly, my showing up here is far more about sharing than anything that can be analyzed.

With that said, I checked my analytics yesterday. And as you can see, they were all bad news.

Or at least, Facebook wanted me to feel them as bad news.

Why the red numbers? Red means danger. Bleeding. Error. Threat.

Does Facebook want me to see that I’ve lost 16 followers this past month and experience that as danger? As a threat? I think so, because for a brief moment, that’s exactly what I felt.

For some people, their bodies have a hard time distinguishing between someone walking away from you and someone disappearing from a screen. For many, both register as less connection than before. And for people whose stories include silence, absence, or being left, that signal can land even harder.

I find it interesting that Facebook, and many other platforms (I pick on Facebook because it’s my go-to), was built two decades ago on bringing people together. Yet now, it seems sustained by making people fear others will walk away.

Does it build by appealing to our shared longing to be seen and known, and then keep us hooked by preying on our shared fear of rejection?

But don’t worry. If you find yourself in the red zone, Facebook will offer strategies to fix it. Topics to write about. Ways to become more appealing. More acceptable. Maybe even some AI to help you along.

To what end? Lots of green numbers?

Green numbers that encourage me to meet the world where it is instead of sharing with the world who I am.

That’s where I eventually settled after the initial jolt of those red numbers.

I settled on a question. Or two.

Do you want to go back to chasing popularity at the expense of being known? Have you not run this experiment before - responding to red warnings in life by offering more of what you think will please others, while feeling more and more displeased with yourself?

Those 16 followers I lost? I have no idea who they are. I will likely never know who they are. How can people you can’t even identify as gone make you feel, even for a moment, like something meaningful has disappeared from your life?

I don’t know. I think red numbers play a role. Red numbers that stir memories of past rejection, or fear of it, far more than anything actually happening in the world of social media analytics.

And this is not lost on social media platforms. Understanding the science of all this is surely in their strategic plans. Hence, the red numbers.

So, for social media 'creators' like myself, I want to encourage you to look instead to the green numbers in your life. The people who are with you when life is red, or green, or black and blue.

Maybe that number is one. Maybe it’s a dozen.

Look to the people who are not up arrows or down arrows. They are simply lines in the sand, walking beside you. Parallel. Processing the stories of your life with you, not deciding whether they are worthy of a red or a green grade.

As for social media, if you want followers, write for followers. But if you want connection, write yourself. Your true, unafraid-of-red-numbers self.

​Someone recently asked me, “How can two people look at the exact same video and see two completely different things?”

They weren’t asking out of curiosity. They weren’t even really asking. They were making a statement in the form of a question. We do that sometimes to make ourselves sound more curious than judgmental.

Nonetheless, it is a good question to explore from a place of curiosity.

I fear many of us don't understand how our brains work. Each of our brains generates a model of the world. Our models are built on our personal experiences and everything we’ve been taught. I think we’d all agree that none of us have had the same experiences, and none of us have been taught the same lessons.

Here’s the important part: these models aren’t primarily to help us understand what we’re seeing. They’re there to help us predict what we’re about to see.

Crazy, right?

But our brains are wired to protect us, to keep us safe. And what better way to stay safe than to predict what’s going to happen next? If there’s a predator coming after me, I need to recognize an attacking predator before it gets to me, rather than analyzing what on earth it was after I’ve already been attacked.

This is how we’ve evolved.

So when it comes to our brains, perception isn’t seeing first and thinking second. It’s thinking first and seeing second. And because of our individual mental models, when new information fits the prediction, it feels true. When it doesn’t, it often feels wrong, even if it’s accurate. And many times, we’ll cling to an inaccuracy just to make things feel less wrong and more safe.

We don’t simply interpret what we see. We often decide what we’re going to see first, and then recruit reality to confirm it. Once that decision is made, evidence stops being information and starts being decoration.

Yes, I’m talking about videos. But this goes way beyond videos. We do this every day in our relationships.

So often we don’t meet people where they are. We meet them as who we predict they’re going to be. By the time they talk, we’ve already decided what they’re going to say. We’ve decided that even their kindest words will sound like attack or a rejection.

What’s tragic is that this usually isn’t malicious. It’s protective. Our brains are trying to keep us safe, efficient, and aligned with our mental models. But when it comes to the brain, efficiency is the enemy of curiosity. And nothing will kill a relationship faster than certainty.

Our instincts push us to decide in advance what someone is, which risks us never knowing who they really are. Our instincts push us to decide in advance what we’re seeing in a video, which risks us never knowing what we’re actually seeing.

Many will read this and maybe think, hmm, that explains THEM.

I think the more helpful way to read it is to wonder, how often do I think before I see? And if the answer is “a lot,” that’s okay. Our brains push us toward that.

The helpful approach is to take back a little control from the brain and incorporate another step:

Think. See. Then think AGAIN.

After we see, force ourselves into curiosity. Whether it’s during a conversation with someone we love or while watching a video, our brains want to tell us what we’re seeing.

Stop. Pause. Ask: Is that really what I’m seeing?

While many of us were braving winter storms this weekend, Alex Honnold was climbing the 1,667-foot skyscraper Taipei 101 in Taiwan, setting a record for the biggest urban free solo climb in history.

He scaled up the outside of the building without ropes or safety nets. For 1 hour, 31 minutes, and 34 seconds, Honnold clung to and climbed the outside of one of the tallest buildings in the world, knowing full well that any slip would surely be a final slip.

Oh, and all while it was streaming live on Netflix.

I found the picture below fascinating. A man inside the building photographing Honnold while he was climbing outside. What was the photographer thinking?

What did he see?

Did he see a superhuman, or a human doing super things?

Did he see a man too crazy to know the risks of climbing without ropes, or a man who'd become so sure of what he was capable of that he no longer needed ropes?

Did he wonder at all what he might be capable of if he'd let go of his need for safety and take a few more risks of his own in life?

I wonder all of these things about the photographer because these are some of the things I wondered about myself when watching highlights of the climb yesterday.

I don't think we're all supposed to go climb skyscrapers without ropes (most of us probably shouldn't even attempt it WITH ropes). But I think it's always worth considering what ropes we're still clinging to that might be worth dropping. What are we taking pictures of that we could be doing instead? How much of our lives have we turned over to being in awe in exchange for not creating awe?

I love watching other humans do what looks like superhuman things. It leaves me wondering how much super I'm leaving untapped inside this human.

We're not all meant to climb buildings, but I think we're all capable of climbing a little bit more than we currently climb. By all means, keep photographing and celebrating the humans around you, just don't forget to climb all that you are made to climb.

​Several years ago, I had a friend lecture me about guns. This in response to me telling him I'd never in my life owned a gun, and that I couldn't imagine a circumstance that would change that.

I assured him this was not an anti-gun ownership stance, but rather, a choice that personally worked best for me.

My friend proceeded to tell me that as a father, this was an irresponsible choice. He told me I had an obligation to protect my family against anyone that might try to invade my home.

I told him that I understood why he chose to include gun ownership in his responsibilities as a father, but for me, I knew anything that might happen to my two young boys because I DID own a gun would haunt me more than anything that might happen as a result of me NOT owning one.

Again, I assured him this was my personal reasoning, not judgment of his.

I also told him that I was privileged to live in a town and neighborhood that made such invasions very unlikely, and in the fifteen years I'd lived there at the time - non-existent.

He then warned me about my government. He said history tells us that governments can turn tyrannical, and that as men and fathers, we had an obligation to arm ourselves and protect ourselves from such a government.

I told him that as little as I worry about my home being invaded by fellow citizens, I worried even less about my government invading it. And even if they did, I told him, I don't think I could ever possess the kind of weaponry that would afford me any shot at victory should that invasion occur.

I told him I thought he was just a little paranoid. And that maybe he'd been spending too much time watching political talk shows.

We never spoke again.

If we were by chance to talk today, I'd have to tell him I'm a little bit sorry. I don't know, maybe I am even full-blown apologetic.

It's true, I still have no desire to own a gun.

And I am still relatively unworried about my fellow citizens invading my home.

But for the first time since our last conversation - for the first time in my life, really - it's no longer incomprehensible to me that my government would show up wanting to do battle with me. I am not anticipating it, but its possibility is no longer off the table.

This does not make me feel worried - or paranoid, even - for this home of mine here is not the home I live most to protect.

But sad; it does make me sad.

You grow up and live a life feeling grateful for the things you have seen and read about and are sure you'll never have to see for yourself, until one day you see them, and you're no longer sure.

And I guess that just feels sad.

I look forward to storms. I always have. The bigger the better.

I sometimes feel guilty about that.

The national weather service says we're in for a big storm tonight and tomorrow here in central Virginia. They predict it will be 'devastating' - (their language).

What kind of human am I when the prospects of a 'devastating' storm excites me?

I trace it back to my youth.

I experienced two extreme - historic - weather events growing up in rural central Ohio. They shaped forever the way I experience weather. Clearly they shaped who I am.

In 1974, the Xenia tornado roared through. The Xenia tornado would be the deadliest tornado in what remains one of the largest and most violent tornado outbreaks in U.S. History. To this day, the 1974 Super Outbreak is regarded as the most intense tornado outbreak ever; it produced the greatest number of violent tornadoes (F4/F5).

Even though I grew up 40 miles from Xenia, the impacts felt much closer. I remember being huddled in the basement with my mom and sisters as golf ball size hail stones shattered windows and landed on the basement floor as if bullets fired from an automatic weapon.

I remember picking up one of those hail stones in the middle of it all, staring at it in wonder, disbelief - I was awed.

After the storm had passed, we discovered those same hail stones had left hundreds of holes in the aluminum siding on the house. Blasted straight through it like a kid joyfully poking holes in a piece of paper with a pencil.

And then the historic blizzard of 1978. It's widely considered the worst winter storm to ever hit Ohio. The storm caught many off guard as the central pressure in the system dropped at rates rarely seen outside of hurricanes.

We lost power. The house got so cold Pepsi froze in bottles and exploded them. Our house literally became a walk-in freezer.

Our firewood at that time was located too far from the house to get to it in the whiteout conditions (a situation remedied immediately after the storm). I remember my dad putting two couches perpendicular to each end of the fireplace. Then he put blankets over the tops of the two couches to form a tent. And absent firewood, we burnt household furniture in the fireplace to provide warmth.

I remember it still being quite cold inside that tent, but frozen liquids weren't exploding in there.

Eventually, the National Guard dug us out and took us to a neighbor's house a few miles down the road. They somehow still had power. I don't remember how - that seems miraculous looking back. It would be some time before anyone else had it.

I remember riding the school bus when we went back to school some time later. I remember staring out the window at piles of snow taller than the bus lining both sides of the road. I remember climbing snowdrifts up to the roof of the house and sitting up there like the biggest kid on earth.

Both of these storms impacted lives. They were devastating by all measures of devastation. And yet, they left me with a lifelong fascination of storms. For the longest time I swore I'd be a weatherman when I grew up.

Maybe it's because storms, more than anything else I've ever experienced, remind me just how small I am in the grand scheme of things. And in turn, they remind me that there is something much bigger than me out there.

Maybe it's because I love being awed. And nothing awes me more than how violently mother nature can upend the nature of things. How quickly it can do it, and how incapable we are of doing anything about it.

Even when a week or more in advance we know it's coming.

And maybe - (and maybe this is the biggest maybe) - maybe I've come to appreciate how often storms quiet the storms in life. In the aftermath of devastating weather storms, I frequently see people leave behind worldly storms that have pitted them against one another, to embrace one another in rebuilding and healing.

Maybe nothing is more one sided - even if not completely so - than the coming together after a storm.

I don't know, in the end I suppose it's just in my blood. I mean a big part of my life's work and mission is helping people understand just how much our childhoods refuse to leave us. Some experiences insist on tagging along for decades and holding influence over even the latest years of our lives. So I guess there's that.

I just know there's a big storm coming this weekend. It excites me. I know along with it, harm will come to many - and yet - I can't bring myself to wish the storm away.

I wouldn't blame someone who interprets that as me wishing harm upon others. All I can say in my defense is that's not the way it feels.

The good news is - one thing I've come to know about weather - it doesn't much care about my opinion or yours. Either way, it's going to do it's thing. 

​In writing my memoir, I confess, there have been many chapters along the way that have stopped me and made me think - and at times say out loud to an empty apartment - what a messed up life you've lived.

When I reflect on the demons that invaded me along the way, and the demons I created to invade the world, I can't help but conclude at times that I have sure made waste of this one and only chance life will ever give me.

But then I pinch myself - a reminder - of all that God and I have made of the waste. For a moment, I look back and do not see demons, but instead - I see how far I have come.

We do that, I think. All of us. We spend so much time thinking about how far we have to go that we don't celebrate maybe the grandest reason for celebration in all of us - just how far we've come.

If you are reading this, you have defied odds in life. I am sure of it. You, like me, have had life stand against you on the way to where you are, and yet, here you are.

You've come a LONG way.

When we don't recognize that, the mile ahead can feel like a cross country drive. The year ahead can feel like centuries. The challenges standing against us can feel like the whole world standing against us.

I think there is great hope to be found in looking at the possibilities out in front of us. But I think the greatest source of fuel for realizing those possibilities is reminding ourselves just how far we've come.

Too often we look in the mirror and see the person the world has beaten up along the way. Maybe today look in the mirror and see the person the world couldn't find a way to knock out.

Look in the mirror and yes, see the person who has a long way to go, but as you turn and walk away, don't forget to congratulate her on just how far she's come!!

We've all come much further than often we give ourselves credit for.

​During an NCAA national championship post-game interview, Indiana University football's starting center - Pat Coogan - was asked:

"You didn’t just win a National Championship, you did it at Indiana, which at one point in time had the most losses in the history of the sport. You went from the bottom to the mountaintop. Give us a player’s view of what is it like to go on that journey?"

Coogan's answer was quite simple: "Yeah, well, I think it starts with belief, right? And sometimes that belief has to be a little irrational."

How many of us build our beliefs of what we think is possible, of what we think we are capable of, on what has already been proven to be possible? How many of us imagine the future based on what we've already seen in the past?

Many people will achieve something today that has never been achieved. Will that be because they were the first to imagine it, or the first to believe it could be done in spite of the fact it had never been done?

When making decisions in our lives, when setting goals, too many of us are way too rational. Too many of us let the facts of life stand in the way of what we might create or achieve in this life.

I'm not suggesting that we should all adopt a willy-nilly approach to our pursuits. But I am wondering, does over-thinking or over-analyzing stand in the way of some of us becoming who we might become. Might the world benefit from seeing a little more of our willy-nilly side?

Coogan was suggesting that "it's never been done" was certainly something for the players and coaches to consider when pursuing Indiana's first national championship in football, but the question is, how do you respond to such a consideration.

It's never been done so it must be impossible to do.

Or...

It's never been done so that means it's about time someone does it.

I'm not asking us all to be irrational today, but then again, maybe I am. When we make decisions based on what makes sense, we too often leave out the possibility of achieving something great that doesn't make any sense at all.

Something that's impossible to believe.

But something that DOES start with a belief - it's just a belief that might be a little irrational.

​A friend shared some good news with me recently. She'd received an answer to a prayer she'd been praying for quite some time. She said, "I never thought I'd get an answer, as it just seemed stagnant."

Boy, that hit me.

It hit me because lately I've realized how often I miss God's presence in my life when I feel like God is showing up without answers.

Translated: I too often reduce God to answers.

If ChatGPT doesn't spit out answers, the presence of ChatGPT in my life has zero value.

But God is not ChatGPT.

When we’re struggling, we tend to turn God into a solution-provider. We ask for clarity, direction, rescue, relief. None of that is wrong. But desperation has a way of narrowing our vision. We start measuring God’s faithfulness by outcomes instead of presence. We ask, “What did God say?” or “What did God fix?” rather than “Is God here?”

This didn't start with us, it's ancient.

Moses doesn’t get a roadmap, he gets “I will be with you.” The disciples don’t get certainty about tomorrow, they get “I am with you always.” Even in moments of agony, the promise isn’t explanation, it’s companionship.

God doesn’t stand at a distance shouting instructions. God steps into the room. But a God without explanations can sometimes be a God we don't feel in the room.

I don't know why that is, for many of us have experienced it. When we are going through a tough time, having someone we love sit next to us makes all the difference. We don't dismiss their presence because they've shown up without a full-proof answer to our tough time.

In parenting, especially the older our kids get, they don't stop calling us when we stop having all the answers, they stop calling when they stop feeling the beauty and peace in our connection.

From the moment we are born, as babies, we long for closeness more than we long for answers. As babies, closeness IS the answer.

But we grow up, and our brains wire to need to know everything, they need to know ALL the answers, and all the while our bodies hold onto - crave - the greatest answer we've ever had.

Being held. Held closely at birth by those who gifted us birth.

I will always believe that God chose birth as the means by which the world would be populated for a reason. Mainly so we'd always know and long for the answer that would always be found in being held.

So that even in moments when God shows up without the answers we are looking for, we'd never stop craving - and noticing - the greatest answer of all - being held by Him.

I have often experienced a God without answers. Sadly, that has too often felt like a God who is not holding me. It is good to be reminded that God has always held us first, and from there flows the answers we seek.

If you feel like you aren't getting the answers you need from God, I encourage you to sit quietly in silence, in prayerful listening, and in the silence feel yourself being deeply held, like a mama holds her baby.

I encourage this because you indeed ARE being held.

From there, I promise you, the answers will come.

God is never stagnant, he's too busy holding us for stagnation to ever enter the picture. Look for God and not the answers, and then, my friends, the answers will come.