This past weekend, I had the chance to spend time with my extended family at a reunion. There were cousins I hadn’t seen in years, kids running around, plenty of food, lots of laughter, lawn games, campfires, and the kind of conversations that remind you how important it is to slow down and enjoy the people around you. As I watched everyone interacting, I found myself noticing something (because apparently I can’t completely turn off my “trainer brain”!). The best moments wer

This past weekend, I had the chance to spend time with my extended family at a reunion. There were cousins I hadn’t seen in years, kids running around, plenty of food, lots of laughter, lawn games, campfires, and the kind of conversations that remind you how important it is to slow down and enjoy the people around you. As I watched everyone interacting, I found myself noticing something (because apparently I can’t completely turn off my “trainer brain”!). The best moments wer

A few weeks ago, I revisited a book that I first read about two years ago, The Comfort Crisis by Michael Easter, and it's been on my mind a lot lately. The premise is simple, but a bit uncomfortable (which is kind of the point): modern life has made things so easy, so convenient, so COMFORTABLE, that we’ve lost our ability—and sometimes even our willingness—to do hard things. And that becomes a problem. Especially as we get older. Because life doesn’t stop asking hard things

There’s a sneaky little shift that can happen as we get older, and if we’re not careful, it starts running the show. We look backward more than forward. We think about what we used to do.How we used to feel.How things used to be “easier.” And just like that, we start comparing our current selves to a past version, who, let’s be honest, had a completely different life, schedule, and set of responsibilities. Not exactly a fair fight. But here’s the thing: possibility doesn’t