Why This Blog Post — And Why Now

 A friend calls from another city. We haven’t talked in a while. After the usual catching up, he asks, “Have you stopped writing your blog?” The short answer is no. The more honest answer is that the writing has been happening—just in a different way.

Over the past year, much of my energy has gone into something more focused. I’ve been writing a book, Adventures of Purpose & Wonder, which is now published on Amazon. That’s why this space has been quieter—not abandoned, just taking a detour into deeper reflection.

The book begins in an unexpected way. I’m in Mexico, teaching English as a second language, and I suddenly find myself with more time than I anticipated. Joint and mobility issues limit how much I can walk and explore. Traveling by bus to some of my teaching sites becomes harder if not impossible. I start wondering what I’ll do when I can no longer teach. I’m frustrated. Restless.

While grumbling to a friend on a Zoom call, he says, “Why don’t you write that book you’ve talked about for years?” I pause. Something clicks inside and I say to myself — Yes, why not give it a try?

As the stories take shape, a pattern emerges. Again and again, they circle around purpose, adventure, and wonder. Sometimes these appear in big moments—crossing borders, standing in the sweep of history. And just as often, they arrive quiet moments — tending a spring garden, listening more carefully, noticing what usually rushes past.

Readers of this blog know that a pivotal moment for me was retiring into the U.S. Peace Corps. That decision opened doors I never expected, but it also taught me something simpler: meaning in life is often close at hand if I slow down enough to notice.

THIS EFFICIENCY APARTMENT BECAME
MY BOOK WRITING SPACE

In the book, I expand on these stories and add others—marching for justice on the National Mall, learning from Lakota elders, listening to the history of the Crimean Tatars, and standing with families during Mexico’s Day of the Dead.

There are also moments that ask for a different kind of attention. Visits to Auschwitz and Hiroshima offer a glimpse of the horrors humans are capable of. They hold no easy reflections. They invite silence, humility, and a deeper reckoning with suffering — and with our responsibility for one another. These stories don’t resolve anything. They ask us to stay present.

What I hope this book offers is a sense of shared experience—as if we’re moving through these moments together. Beyond the pages, I hope it naturally finds its way into conversation in book clubs, coffee breaks, social media threads, or quiet exchanges between friends.

Those kind of conversation can continue in simple ways. Some readers may choose to reply directly to me—I’d welcome hearing from you. Others may want to leave a few words on Amazon, not as a review in the usual sense, but as a brief reflection that might help someone else decide whether this book speaks to them. If you’d like to do that, you can share a comment directly on Amazon.

None of these stories are prescriptive. They don’t tell anyone what to think or how to live. They open space—for questions, reflection, and reconnecting with values that matter especially during uncertain times.

That’s why this blog post appears now: to keep conversations alive. It feels especially important as many of us look to one another for ways to strengthen our communities and re-imagine purpose and wonder in everyday life.