However, before he passed, he shared a timeless secret with me—a practice that would shape my life in ways I could never have imagined. He didn't teach me meditation in the traditional sense, with incense and crossed legs. Instead, he showed me how to meditate by gazing at a lone light on the ceiling. 

When I was very young, I had night terrors that would wake me in the middle of the night. I'm sure it was terribly frustrating to calm a child from that. But my father had the way.

I never understood how he came to the practice. But over the years, I've come to understand that my father's unique approach to meditation was, in fact, a profound lesson in mindfulness and presence.

In a nearly pitch black room, he would tell me to find a speck of light, not unlike a star. Then focus.

He would say, "Just watch the light, like you're watching a story unfold. Be the observer, not the thinker."

In those moments, I learned to be still. I learned to let go of the worries that cluttered my mind and simply be in the present. It was my father's way of showing me the power of meditation, even before I knew what that word meant.

As I grew older, I explored various forms of meditation, but I always returned to the simple practice my father had introduced me to. I realized that, in essence, meditation is about finding your own "light on the ceiling" and using it as a focal point for mindfulness.

Now, as an adult, I continue to meditate by gazing at the light on my own bedroom ceiling, just as my father did. It's a way to connect with him, even though he's no longer with us. I find myself often stargazing and it  keeps his memory alive and teaches me that, in the midst of life's chaos, there is always a guiding light to return to.

My father's gift of meditation was more than a simple technique; it was a legacy of presence and peace. I carry his wisdom with me in every moment, and as I lay in the darkness, gazing at the soft, comforting glow on my ceiling, I am reminded of the man who illuminated my life.

I've been headed towards a completely different life for a lot longer than I even knew.

It took me a while to catch up to realize it was happening. 

Thankfully, I was cognizant enough to see it finally and mostly ready for it.

It's amazing when you have the rug completely pulled out from underneath you. The adjustments are jarring. 

I made mistakes, but like most I learned from them, adapted, and tried my best to do better.

The reason you see that truck next to a storage place? That's the sum of my life right now. 

Never take for granted that you will work hard for something or someone, and it will end up meaning very little. You are guaranteed nothing, owed nothing, promised nothing. Anything and everything can be taken away in a heartbeat. 

I wrote this to my kids a while back:

I tried to be the best father I could be based on what I knew when I knew it and how I could. One of the lessons for your life needs to be: you need to be functional and working yourself to work with others. Sacrifice is necessary sometimes, but at your own cost is ultimately detrimental to everyone.

I closed with a note similar to what I have said here, but reminded them that any relationship and anything given is a choice.

I am grateful I can make my choices now.