Credibility means we are believable. That others have found value in us, enough to say “Hey, we trust them. They know their stuff.”

But credible feels sort of average, safe, normal, a bland vanillin.

What doesn’t feel average is incredible – by definition the opposite of credible.

Incredible is impossible to believe, immeasurable, fireworks and blows credible out of any body of water.

If you had to choose, wouldn’t you choose incredible?

In times of uncertainty, how do we find and grasp onto certainty?

When things are topsy turvy and we feel out of control, where do we look? What do we do?

Some of us look to the future. We make plans for when things are less chaotic. We schedule and put parties or dinners into our calendars as if they are a sure thing.

In times of uncertainty, the only certain thing is death. Maybe by creating plans, we hope to buffer ourselves from the one thing that is certain. The idea of beach vacations and meeting up with friends may very well fall through when we are in a pandemic but that is not stopping us from trying to look ahead.

Do we make plans during uncertainty not only to deal with the uncertainty but to also avoid the certainty of death?

An eye for an eye leads to a world where we can’t see the humanity in each other.

[a realization when I introduced the phrase “an eye for an eye” to my kids as they were fighting]

We are saddened when our loved ones pass.

The grief runs deep.

We are saddened that they miss out on the milestones, births, and celebrations.

The grief comes in waves.

But do our passed loved ones really miss out on those milestones?

Personally, I don’t believe that they are fully gone. I believe that they are in the ether, in the air that surrounds and envelops my being.

I realized that, in actuality, I am saddened by not being able to share those experiences with them in the human, physical world.

It feels like censorship is only decried when something is taken away from us. Like a parent taking a toy from us.

But what we don’t always realize is that censorship exists at all stages before that thing is ever even ours. And censorship isn’t necessarily the right word.

Decisions were made before that toy landed in our hands. Someone had to think of the original idea. Somehow that idea was selected among the many they had. Then it may have been brought forward to a group who then decided that the original magenta color was not marketable so they changed it to yellow and then decided that the elephant logo was too divisive so a hedgehog was selected. And so on.

Decrying censorship is ignoring all the many decisions, and many possibly biased decisions, made before that toy/product/book/article/publication was put out into the market. Decrying censorship as evil means that the original decisions were perfect and any new information is not as valid.

What we are really upset about is not censorship. We are upset about losing the toy that we thought was ours to have and losing any semblance of control in the process as a rabid consumer. But was did we ever really have control?

Go. Go. Go.

Cars are prided on how quickly they can go from zero to sixty.

It’s all about the gas pedal.

But just because it is there does not mean you have to slam on it.

Lighten your foot.

And remember that you also have a brake.

Mothering feels hectic and frantic a lot of the time.

But some days, there are these moments where what we do is clear and in focus and everything else in the background fades to a low hum.

The voices in our heads quiet.

We are present with our family.

It’s pure magic.

Priceless – if we were able to capture it in a bottle and sold on a shelf.

But they are only priceless because we think those moments are scarce.

What if they aren’t?

Life can feel like a poorly planned and poorly maintained amusement park.

The paths may be confusing, twisting, winding.

Maps and guides are there but they may be hidden behind overgrown bushes or misplaced off the path.

The crowd may feel overwhelming, and you may feel alone, trying to find the people you came to find.

But what most amusement parks offer, even the poorly planned, are opportunities for play, fun, and even delight.

The thrill of a ride, the challenge of a game, and the quirks of the staff are all opportunites to enjoy the experience despite the windy paths, hidden maps and overwhelming crowds.

A sense of playfulness is available to us.

A comfortable life is blah.

When everything is taken care of for you, you don’t even realize that there were problems needed to be fixed.

Automated technology tries to do it all for us. And when it doesn’t, there will be an uproarious crowd ready to declare war.

If you have a itch and there is always someone to scratch it for you, can you even say you had an itch?

Maybe they scratched it for you even before you knew there was an itch.

What if that is actually a disservice?

What if that itch is there to tell you something?

What would it mean to see that itch and scratch it yourself?

Comfort is overrated.

Comfort causes us to not appreciate what is around us. If we have always lived in a big house in a nice neighborhood, we don’t know any differently.

Our standards are created only by what we know and what we are shown.

But life and learning and growing happens in the contrast.

Plop us in a neighborhood living under the poverty line and we will see what we have. It will make us more appreciative. It will make us want to find solutions.

Get out of your fishbowl. See, breathe and feel the contrast.