{"id":25438,"date":"2026-05-16T06:26:14","date_gmt":"2026-05-16T06:26:14","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/happyinthehills.com\/zentriathlete\/?p=25438"},"modified":"2026-05-16T07:02:33","modified_gmt":"2026-05-16T07:02:33","slug":"crmvia","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/happyinthehills.com\/zentriathlete\/2026\/05\/16\/crmvia\/","title":{"rendered":"Currents, rhythms – my vane is atmospheric"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
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Weather Systems, Fertility, Grief, Overwhelm, and the Architecture of Work<\/h3><\/div>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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There are stretches of my life that feel less like chapters and more like weather systems\u2014fronts that move in, linger, break apart, and shift without warning. I don\u2019t always notice the moment the sky changes. One day I\u2019m standing in the fog of something heavy, and the next I\u2019m halfway up a different ridgeline, following a thread of clarity I didn\u2019t realize I\u2019d picked up.<\/span><\/p>

It\u2019s not avoidance. It\u2019s not detachment. It\u2019s simply the way my internal terrain works: fast in some places, slow in others, nonlinear everywhere. I process things deeply and privately, and by the time I surface, I\u2019ve often already crossed into the next season. To others, it can look like I skipped steps. To me, it feels like I\u2019m just moving with the weather.<\/span><\/p>

That\u2019s why some of my transitions\u2014on the page and in life\u2014land like hard cuts. I\u2019ve already metabolized the storm before I ever speak about it. I\u2019ve already walked through the room before I describe the doorway. And unless I consciously slow down, I forget that not everyone is starting from the same ground.<\/span><\/p>

Years ago, a friend told me I used too many ellipses. Too many implied leaps. Too many unspoken bridges. At the time, I didn\u2019t understand the critique. I thought the meaning was obvious. I assumed people could see the same sky I was standing under. That assumption was wrong, and it took me a long time to understand why.<\/span><\/p>

But feedback\u2014even unsolicited\u2014is a gift. And that comment became a kind of early weather vane for me. A small indicator that my internal seasons weren\u2019t always visible to others. I didn\u2019t know it then, but that insight would eventually shape the way I write, the way I communicate, and the way I move through the world.<\/span><\/p>

This post is part of that ongoing shift\u2014a more intentional attempt to name the weather as it changes, to slow down the transitions, and to bring others along the ridgeline with me.<\/span><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t

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The Quiet Conversations and The Hard Stops<\/h3><\/div>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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There are conversations that happen in the open, and then there are the quiet ones\u2014the ones that slip into your inbox because someone is trying to navigate something heavy without turning it into a spectacle. A colleague recently posted about navigating fertility benefits. Their pronouns are fluid. Their partner will be the carrier. They\u2019re young, hopeful, and standing at the trailhead of a journey that is equal parts science, longing, and bureaucracy.<\/span><\/p>

I reached out with what I offer now: observation and information, not advice. They were grateful. And afterward, something in me stirred\u2014the same something that stirs whenever grief brushes past like a familiar shadow.<\/span><\/p>

Because fertility, grief, overwhelm, and the long arc of becoming emotionally literate are braided together in ways I didn\u2019t understand until much later.<\/span><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t

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The Hungry Hunter and the Volatility of Memento Mori<\/h3><\/div>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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Some days Memento Mori<\/em> is empowering. Other days it\u2019s fragile and volatile.<\/span><\/p>

News came that the world lost a good one. Bruce. And even though death is part of the whole arrangement, grief still arrives like a hungry hunter\u2014quiet, patient, and uninvited. I found myself wishing peace for a good friend in his loss, hoping that memory would outweigh the sting.<\/span><\/p>

Grief doesn\u2019t always take. Sometimes it leaves gifts.<\/span><\/p>

Bruce was one of those rare reminders that steadiness is a form of wisdom. I didn\u2019t know it then, but the seasons ahead \u2014 the hard stops, the fertility years, the overwhelm \u2014 would expose every place where I lacked that steadiness in myself.<\/span><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t

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Bruce: Temperance, Whitman, and the F\u2011Bomb in Dazed and Confused<\/h3><\/div>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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One of my favorite memories of Bruce is from post missionary experience and before my return to finishing my college degree. Me, Mike, and Jared watched Dazed and Confused<\/em> with him. The movie ended. We were stunned at how prolific the F\u2011word was. Bruce, in his seasoned way, simply said:<\/span><\/p>

\u201cWell\u2026 that was interesting.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

And then he went to bed.<\/span><\/p>

Temperance. Demeanor. A man who didn\u2019t need to perform wisdom\u2014he just lived it.<\/span><\/p>

Another memory: he once shared advice saying I should be careful and choose a partner with complementary hobbies and interests. That single piece of wisdom has saved my marriage more times than I can count. Liz and I navigate life as partners, friends, co\u2011parents, co\u2011conspirators\u2014and, for a few hours at times, mortal enemies. That anchor has pulled us back to solid ground more than once.<\/span><\/p>

And then there was Whitman. Bruce is where I first learned \u201cBe curious, not judgmental.\u201d Roy Kent wants to burst out of me here, but I\u2019ll restrain myself.<\/span><\/p>

Growing up is still hard. Grief is still a hunter. But sometimes the hunter leaves you with gratitude instead of teeth.<\/span><\/p>

Bruce was one of those gifts \u2014 a quiet front that moved through my life and changed the air without announcing itself. His steadiness didn\u2019t feel instructive at the time, but it became a kind of barometer later, when other storms arrived and I realized how unprepared I was for them. Some seasons shift slowly, almost imperceptibly, until you look up and notice you\u2019re standing in different weather entirely.<\/span><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t

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The Hard Stops<\/h3><\/div>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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There are places in my story where I simply stop. I carried that steadiness with me longer than I realized, even if I didn\u2019t yet know how to name it.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span>Not because the emotion isn\u2019t there, but because I\u2019ve already metabolized it privately. Or because I don\u2019t know the rules of engagement for sharing it. Or because the topic feels like a room I\u2019ve already walked through and closed behind me.<\/span><\/p>

The shift from grief to fertility was one of those hard stops. I didn\u2019t know how to narrate that transition in real time. I was overwhelmed, unsure how to plug in, and quietly accepting the idea that more kids might not be part of my future. I didn\u2019t have the language for it then. I barely had the footing.<\/span><\/p>

And the truth is, the transition itself wasn\u2019t clean. It wasn\u2019t cinematic. It wasn\u2019t even conscious. It was more like walking through a doorway I didn\u2019t realize I\u2019d opened \u2014 one moment standing in the fog of loss, the next standing in a clinic hallway under fluorescent lights, trying to make sense of a future I wasn\u2019t sure I was built for.<\/span><\/p>

I didn\u2019t recognize the overwhelm for what it was. It felt like static. Like shrinking my hopes before anyone else had the chance to. Meanwhile, Liz was living the experience in her body \u2014 every cycle, every appointment, every quiet disappointment. She was carrying the emotional load, the logistical load, and the biological load while I was still trying to figure out which direction the weather was moving inside me.<\/span><\/p>

Looking back, I can see how much I had already pre\u2011grieved the possibility of more children. Not out of pessimism, but out of self\u2011protection – my unknown version of premeditation malorum. It felt easier to lower the horizon than to risk watching it collapse. I didn\u2019t say that out loud \u2014 I didn\u2019t even know how to \u2014 but it shaped the way I showed up, or didn\u2019t.<\/span><\/p>

And yet \u2014 gratefully \u2014 I was wrong. Liz had the patience to sit with me in the mud long enough for me to find my footing. She didn\u2019t demand clarity I didn\u2019t have. She didn\u2019t punish the gaps. She just stayed. And that steadiness became the bridge between the season I thought we were in and the one we were actually entering.<\/span><\/p>

Maybe this draft is me finally circling back to name that weather for what it was.<\/span><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t

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2005: Straight Lines and Na\u00efve Certainty<\/h3><\/div>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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Our first child arrived in 2005. Back then, I believed life moved in straight lines. You decide, you try, you succeed. A tidy sequence.<\/span><\/p>

Then came the years that weren\u2019t tidy.<\/span><\/p>

My wife lived the reality of secondary infertility in real time\u2014every appointment, every cycle, every quiet disappointment. I drifted. Not out of disinterest, but out of under\u2011skill. Out of the coping patterns I had built long before I understood what coping patterns even were.<\/span><\/p>

My resilience strategy was simple: disconnect, compartmentalize, keep moving. It worked for me. It did not work for us.<\/span><\/p>

And here\u2019s the uncomfortable truth I didn\u2019t understand then: overwhelm isn\u2019t a lack of effort. It\u2019s a physiological shutdown mislabeled as a moral failure.<\/span><\/p>

I wasn\u2019t unmotivated. I was overloaded. And I didn\u2019t have the language\u2014or the courage\u2014to admit it.<\/span><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t

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The Moment the Air Left the Room<\/h3><\/div>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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There\u2019s a moment I still replay. We were at the fertility center in Sandy, Utah, nearing the final ramp toward a low\u2011stim IVF cycle with ICSI. The physician\u2014well\u2011meaning, but careless\u2014looked at my wife and said:<\/span><\/p>

\u201cWith what I see from your partner and you, this is textbook. You shouldn\u2019t have to use this.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

I felt the air leave the room. I felt something collapse inside her. Another weight on a pile she had been carrying alone.<\/span><\/p>

And I was still too wrapped in my own inconvenience\u2014managing our son, managing my schedule\u2014to see the full picture.<\/span><\/p>

That moment became a seed. A slow\u2011germinating one. But a seed nonetheless.<\/span><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t

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2015: Science, Insurance, and Grace Intersect<\/h3><\/div>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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In July 2015, our second child arrived\u2014IVF\u2011assisted, low\u2011stim protocol, made possible by a $20,000 lifetime fertility benefit. Without that support, our family would look very different. And yet there are people who want to legislate that support away, claiming divine authority while wielding political power.<\/span><\/p>

My second child wouldn\u2019t be here without science. My last three children wouldn\u2019t be here without that door opening. And someone wants to close that door for others.<\/span><\/p>

That tension sits with me.<\/span><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t

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Stoicism, Emotional Literacy, and the Painted Porch<\/h3><\/div>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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People often assume Stoicism is emotionless. They\u2019re wrong.<\/span><\/p>

Stoicism gave me emotional literacy\u2014my own dialect of it. The four virtues\u2014courage, temperance, wisdom, justice\u2014became anchors, not armor. They didn\u2019t shut emotions down; they gave them structure. They gave me a way to encounter, acknowledge, accept, and metabolize them.<\/span><\/p>

My emotional current isn\u2019t shallow. It\u2019s just\u2026 efficient. Not rushed. Not repressed. Just mine.<\/span><\/p>

It\u2019s why Memento Mori<\/em> can steady me one day and destabilize me the next. Death remembered is a compass, until it becomes a storm.<\/span><\/p>

Around the time of our IVF journey, I picked up Ryan Holiday\u2019s The Obstacle Is the Way<\/em> and later Ego Is the Enemy<\/em>. And I realized I had become the kind of person I used to critique\u2014someone fluent in theory but inert in practice.<\/span><\/p>

I was standing on my painted porch, admiring the philosophy I claimed to embody, but not repainting the porch to reflect who I was becoming.<\/span><\/p>

Infertility cracked that fa\u00e7ade. Grief carved the rest.<\/span><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t

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Overwhelm, Motivation, and the Architecture of Workv<\/h3><\/div>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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Somewhere in the middle of all this, I started noticing a pattern\u2014not just in myself, but in the systems we build around work.<\/span><\/p>

We confuse overwhelm with laziness. We confuse shutdown with apathy. We confuse bandwidth with character.<\/span><\/p>

Most workplaces still treat overwhelm as a personal defect instead of a systems\u2011level signal. They rely on urgency, reactivity, and the myth that competent people have infinite capacity. And when the scaffolding of autonomy collapses\u2014when micromanagement rises, when AI accelerates expectations instead of easing them\u2014motivation doesn\u2019t increase. It fractures.<\/span><\/p>

I\u2019ve learned that my motivation shows up cleanest in environments built on clarity, purpose, and steady cadence. Give me coherent goals and space to move, and I don\u2019t need pressure to activate\u2014I just move.<\/span><\/p>

But when the environment leans on adrenaline as a strategy, motivation collapses into survival mode.<\/span><\/p>

Interest, autonomy, and conviction are renewable fuels. Panic is not.<\/span><\/p>

This realization didn\u2019t arrive in a workshop or a leadership book. It arrived in the quiet wreckage of infertility. In the slow recognition that I had been designing my life\u2014and my work\u2014around the wrong energy sources.<\/span><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t

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Observe. Inform. Instruct. (Only With Consent.)<\/h3><\/div>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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One of the biggest shifts in me came from realizing how often I had given unsolicited advice. Today, my framework is simple:<\/p>

  • Observe<\/span><\/strong> \u2014 see what is actually happening.<\/p><\/li>

  • Inform<\/span><\/strong> \u2014 share context without prescribing action.<\/p><\/li>

  • Instruct<\/span><\/strong> \u2014 only with explicit consent.<\/p><\/li><\/ul>

    This is how I responded to my colleague. This is how I respond to anyone navigating fertility. This is how I respond to grief. This is how I respond to overwhelm\u2014mine and others\u2019.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t

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    The Shift in March<\/h3><\/div>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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    People might assume there was some dramatic event that triggered the change in my writing this spring. There wasn\u2019t. It was more like a slow internal pressure building until something finally clicked. A spark, not an explosion.<\/span><\/p>

    Professional feedback played a role\u2014not as the driver, but as the nudge. Enough friction to make me look at my own patterns. Enough tension to make me reorganize the categories and tags on my blog. Enough noise to make me want clarity.<\/span><\/p>

    And once I started reorganizing the structure, the writing followed. I found myself leaning into themes of agency, discernment, systems, and the quieter internal movements I\u2019d been ignoring. The cadence changed. The voice sharpened. The ellipses became intentional instead of accidental.<\/span><\/p>

    This post is part of that shift\u2014a more mindful, grounded version of how I move through my own story.<\/span><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t

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    The Long Arc Back to Presence<\/h3><\/div>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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    If I\u2019m honest, the IVF chapter wasn\u2019t the hardest part. The hardest part was realizing how absent I had been. How much of my \u201cstrength\u201d was avoidance. How much of my \u201cresilience\u201d was emotional distance.<\/span><\/p>

    That reckoning became a hinge point in my life.<\/span><\/p>

    It\u2019s part of why I do endurance sports now. Why I lean into friction instead of running from it. Why I\u2019ve spent years doing the slow work of becoming a better husband, father, and human.<\/span><\/p>

    And somewhere along the way, two more children arrived naturally. No procedures. No clinics. Just life surprising us after we had stopped expecting surprises.<\/span><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t

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    I\u2019m learning that clarity isn\u2019t always about having the perfect transition. Sometimes it\u2019s about naming the gap. Naming the blind spot. Naming the place where the story jumps because that\u2019s how I lived it.<\/span><\/p>

    I\u2019m not trying to sand down every edge. I\u2019m trying to make the edges honest.<\/span><\/p>

    And if the writing feels different now, it\u2019s because I\u2019m different now. Not in a dramatic way\u2014just in the way a person changes when they finally stop assuming everyone else is starting from the same ground.<\/span><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t

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    Because someone out there is where we were. Because someone is quietly Googling coverage options at midnight. Because someone is carrying the emotional load alone while their partner doesn\u2019t realize they\u2019re drifting. Because someone is mistaking overwhelm for failure. Because someone is trying to stay motivated in a system designed for burnout. Because someone needs to hear that fertility journeys aren\u2019t just medical\u2014they\u2019re relational, emotional, and deeply human.<\/span><\/p>

    And because grief is a hunter, and remembering death\u2014Memento Mori<\/em>\u2014is both a compass and a storm.<\/span><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t

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    What This Offers<\/h3><\/div>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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    Not advice. Not prescriptions. Just presence. Just observation. Just the story of a man learning to repaint his porch, metabolize his grief, redesign his work, and show up with courage, temperance, wisdom, and justice.<\/span><\/p>

    The sky feels different now. Not lighter, not resolved \u2014 just named. And maybe that\u2019s the work now: noticing the weather as it turns, and letting myself stand in it long enough to understand what season I\u2019m actually in.<\/span><\/p>

    And now, as I sit with Bruce\u2019s memory, I\u2019ll put on DMB\u2019s \u201cGranny\u201d and let the hunter rest for a moment.<\/span><\/p>

    Rest easy, Bruce. Rest easy.<\/span><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

    Weather Systems, Fertility, Grief, Overwhelm, and the Architecture of Work There are stretches of my life that feel less like chapters and more like weather systems\u2014fronts that move in, linger, break apart, and shift without warning. I don\u2019t always notice […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":20790,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"nf_dc_page":"","_eb_attr":"","pagelayer_contact_templates":[],"_pagelayer_content":"","rs_blank_template":"","rs_page_bg_color":"","slide_template_v7":"","wprm-recipe-roundup-name":"","wprm-recipe-roundup-description":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[814],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-25438","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-ads"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/happyinthehills.com\/zentriathlete\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25438","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/happyinthehills.com\/zentriathlete\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/happyinthehills.com\/zentriathlete\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/happyinthehills.com\/zentriathlete\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/happyinthehills.com\/zentriathlete\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=25438"}],"version-history":[{"count":20,"href":"https:\/\/happyinthehills.com\/zentriathlete\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25438\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":25462,"href":"https:\/\/happyinthehills.com\/zentriathlete\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25438\/revisions\/25462"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/happyinthehills.com\/zentriathlete\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20790"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/happyinthehills.com\/zentriathlete\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=25438"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/happyinthehills.com\/zentriathlete\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=25438"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/happyinthehills.com\/zentriathlete\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=25438"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}