There’s a special kind of satisfaction that comes from seeing a project through to the end, especially when it doesn’t go as planned. I recently tackled a home repair DIY project that turned out to be more of an adventure than I’d bargained for. What started as a simple task—replacing a rotten wall panel and some insulation—quickly spiraled into something much bigger:
Replacing all the insulation
Re-running electrical wiring
Removing old newspaper insulation under the window sill
Spraying foam sealant
Caulking the outside brick
Adding nail-stopper plates
Then finally replacing the wall panel
It was messy, unexpected, and honestly, overwhelming at times. But finishing it felt incredible because the challenge forced me to adapt, learn, and grow.
summer wanted to help but she didn’t know the difference between a pry bar and a wrecking bar. and has no thumbs.it got messy quicklythe extent of thee water damagethey used newspaper as insulation! 😱dated Nov. 5, 1970front page of the newspaperI’m no electrician but this doesn’t seem right. 🤨also this…i could clearly see daylight to the outside! no good!QUAD to the rescue!we call it good.
Therapy is like a DIY project—messy, unpredictable, and life-changing.
Home repairs, as it turns out, are a perfect metaphor for therapy. Just like peeling back a wall reveals hidden issues, opening yourself up in therapy can expose complexities you didn’t anticipate. What you thought was one “rotten panel” might be layers of unresolved emotions, unexamined beliefs, or buried experiences.
And let’s be honest: that can be terrifying. Not only do you have to confront the work itself, but you also face the uncertainty of what lies beneath. Therapy often means diving into unknown territory—places you’ve never explored.
But here’s the thing: the first time you face those fears is the hardest. Each time after that? It gets a little easier. What once felt impossible starts to feel doable.
The Transformation
Better than before!
That’s the beauty of the work. Therapy takes what feels overwhelming and makes it manageable. Over time, the things you once avoided become things you conquer. They might even become things you enjoy.
And the best part? It’s life-changing. When you look back, you realize how far you’ve come and wonder, “How was I ever afraid of THAT?” The change is in the challenge.
Running into 2025 with my head up, eyes forward, and heart open—and I’m not looking back for a second. 🏃🏻♂️💨
This year, I’m saying farewell to the me I’ve outgrown, celebrating the me I’ve rediscovered, and embracing the anticipation of the me I’m yet to know.
2025 is my year to conquer new challenges, starting with running my first half marathon. This time last year, I had only ever run 5Ks, never daring to call myself a distance runner. But everything changed when my wife challenged me to run the Greenville Trees Upstate Turkey Day 8K. I accepted—and crushed it. It wasn’t so bad after all, so I leveled up to a 10K. Now, with a 10-miler just 30 days away and my first half marathon in 60, I’ve gone from hesitant to hooked.
They call it the “running bug” for a reason. There’s nothing quite like the rush of crossing a finish line, the dopamine hit that floods your system, and the satisfaction of crushing a goal you once thought impossible. It’s euphoric. And I’m here for all of it this year—chasing the real dopamine, the kind that fuels growth, resilience, and self-discovery.
But this journey is about more than just running; it’s about pushing the limits I never thought I could challenge. Growing up, I wasn’t much of an athlete. Between mild asthma, outdoor allergies, and a chronic heart condition called Aortic Stenosis (a narrowing of the aortic valve that can limit blood flow and endurance), I was always told to “take it easy.” Physical activity was something I approached with caution, never pushing too hard or taking risks.
Movement is Medicine.
Ironically, it’s only by stepping outside those limits that I’ve become the healthiest version of myself. As I’ve increased my physical activity, my cardio fitness has soared. My resting heart rate is the lowest it’s ever been, and my HRV (heart rate variability)—a measure of my body’s resilience and recovery—is the highest it’s ever been. Beyond the physical benefits, running has transformed my mental health. It’s my stress reliever, mood booster, and a time for clarity and reflection.
In my upper 30s, I’m acutely aware of how important it is to stay active as I age. Movement is my medicine. I want to feel this good not just now but decades from now. When I’m twice my age, I want to be strong, mobile, and capable—not confined to a chair.
So here’s the plan for my half marathon:
1️⃣ Goal #1 is simply to finish.
2️⃣ Goal #2 is to finish with a sub-12-minute mile pace (or under 2:37 overall).
And if I don’t? It won’t be a failure; it’ll be a stepping stone for whatever challenge comes next.
Growth happens on the other side of comfort.
Limits exist to be pushed. Growth happens on the other side of comfort. And this year, I’m choosing to be uncomfortable in the best ways possible.
Here’s to running into the new year with purpose, passion, and perseverance. Join me on the journey—it’s going to a maratahon–not a sprint! 🏃♂️✨
The cinematic overture swelled through the theater, its rich, resonant notes vibrating deep within me. As the citizens of Munchkinland rejoicified, “No one mourns the wicked! No one cries they won’t return! No one lays a lily on their grave!”
The words were not just a chant of celebration but a reminder of the loneliness that comes with being misunderstood, of how easily society casts aside those who don’t fit its mold.
And goodness knows, the wicked’s lives are lonely. Goodness knows the wicked die alone. It just shows when you’re wicked, you’re left only… on your own.
Sitting in the theater, I was immediately transported back to when I first encountered the world of Wicked. Jon M. Chu brought the fantastical world to life, imagining it with such vivid detail that it felt as though I was stepping into a realm I had always known.
I’ve experienced Part One of the film adaptation twice now. I was so captivated the first time that I returned for a rewatch just a week later. It was in the second viewing that I connected with the wistfulness in Elphaba’s eyes, a longing for a world that could never fully accept her, but also a quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, she could find her place in it.
If you’ve ever experienced trauma in your childhood, Elphaba’s journey is something you can relate to in your bones. Her transformation from misunderstood outcast to empowered individual touches on the deepest desires of the heart: acceptance, understanding, and belonging.
It’s one of life’s greatest paradoxes—the world tells us, “Be like us and you will belong,” yet true belonging comes only when we embrace our truest selves, even when the world may not understand, agree with, or accept us.
And not only can this rejection come from the world, but it most often comes from the ones closest to us. Born into a family that couldn’t love her for who she truly was, Elphaba experienced rejection from the very people she entrusted with her love and safety, both physically and emotionally, leaving her to grapple with a profound sense of isolation.
Yet, Elphaba’s journey is not one she walks alone. Her relationship with Glinda, the epitome of everything the world deems “good,” juxtaposes Elphaba’s struggle for acceptance. Despite their contrasting personalities and beliefs, their bond beautifully illustrates the complexities of friendship, rivalry, and understanding.
In many ways, Glinda is a reflection of the world’s acceptance—what Elphaba longs for but cannot attain. And yet, it’s through their connection that Elphaba can find her sense of belonging, even if that belonging doesn’t look like what she imagined.
The evolving relationship between Elphaba and Glinda highlights the transformative power of connection. Their friendship, tested and tempered through trials, reflects the intricate relationships in our own lives, teaching us that true bonds are forged in the fires of adversity when it’s the most difficult to recognize. But it’s only in that very adversity that the work happens if we let it.
Just because you can’t see something, doesn’t mean it’s not there.
Though not from Wicked, this quote beautifully captures the spirit of the journey we witness in the story. It reminds us that sometimes, the most powerful truths are the ones we can’t see—those deep within, shaping our hearts and actions. Much like Elphaba, who is misunderstood and unseen for who she truly is, we all carry invisible forces, driving our growth, choices, and resilience.
Throughout the story, the Wizard’s manipulation tactics expose how power can be used to control and distort the truth. He preys on Elphaba’s insecurities, twisting her perception of herself and her place in the world, all while using charm and deceit to maintain his control. His ability to mask his true intentions behind a facade of benevolence highlights the darker side of authority, where those in power exploit others’ vulnerabilities for personal gain.
This chilling portrayal shows how easily trust can be corrupted, and how true strength lies in seeing through those falsehoods, as Elphaba does when she ultimately takes up the courage to blaze her own path.
“I’m not afraid. It’s the Wizard who should be afraid of me.”
– Elphaba
Fear is a force that can either bind us or empower us, depending on how we choose to face it. It’s a primal emotion that manifests physically, tightening muscles, quickening the heartbeat, and clouding the mind with doubt and hesitation. Fear is quick to paralyze, but it can also be the very thing that drives us to stand up, speak out, and embrace our true power.
Elphaba’s defiance in the face of the Wizard’s control exemplifies this. When she declares, “I’m not afraid. It’s the Wizard who should be afraid of me,” it is a moment of profound transformation. It’s not just a declaration of strength but a recognition of the fear that the Wizard has instilled in her, which she now chooses to turn into her weapon. Fear, once internalized, can be a catalyst for reclaiming autonomy, a shift from victimhood to empowerment.
As the credits rolled, I felt something change with me: a profound sense of gratitude. Wicked: Part One is more than just a film; it’s a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the beauty of embracing one’s unique journey. It reminds us to embrace the magic within, not for wicked means, but for good–a call to defy gravity in our own lives, just as Elphaba does.
