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Joy Is Where You Seek It

Last week, I had the pleasure of listening to insights from the great Giancarlo Esposito, who you might know as Gustavo Fring from Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul, or as Stan Edgar from The Boys, or as Moff Gideon from The Mandalorian. Or from a host of character roles he’s portrayed. Basically, if you need a brilliant actor, you call Giancarlo Esposito, especially if you need someone to be quietly menacing. And yet, the man behind the characters is anything but scary — engaging, jovial, energetic, opinionated, spontaneous, and full of love. Texas Hall at UTA was full of mostly college students that night, and they absolutely adored the man. He reciprocated and gave them a really interesting night filled with encouragement, wisdom, and humor. The word that crept into my head throughout the evening was: Joy. Esposito has it, and shared it, referring to the “blessed” life he has had, getting to do something he enjoys for a living. (He also referred to everyone in the room as “blessed” in their own way, but that’s an idea for a different post.) And most successful actors, particularly the more famous ones, will offer similar words of encouragement, about following your dreams and making committed choices and immersing yourself in the work. That is certainly part of the beauty of actors and artists committing to their craft even through difficult times, in pursuit of their definition of success. It’s reminiscent of the old sentiment: “Do something you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life.” 

But while that’s a lovely sentiment, it’s not always practical for everyone seeking to make a living. The truth is that not all of us can really survive doing a “pay the bills job” while we chase our actual “dream job.” Many of us find ourselves migrating into work that is enjoyable, I hope, or at least tolerable, but not necessarily the work we would love. Meanwhile, there are some who end up in jobs that are miserable. I think the spectrum of work satisfaction breaks down like a classic bell curve, with dream jobs on one side of the bell, miserable jobs on the other, and tolerable/satisfactory/enjoyable jobs making up the fat middle. If you’re in that dream job territory, enjoy it. If you’re in the miserable job area, by all means, seek to escape and step up to at least tolerable. But that middle is actually the tough area where you can often fall into a trap and subject yourself to grass-is-greener syndrome, playing could/woulda/shoulda games in your head about what might have been. “Maybe I could’ve had my dream job if only…”

And this is where we torture ourselves, isn’t it? We imagine a life we think we could’ve had based on a job we could’ve had, whether the possibility was realistic or not. We build our identity around our work (another future blog topic), then we essentially crush that identity because it’s not the wildly successful one in our imagination. And then we wonder why we feel unfulfilled, have doubts, and even suffer from poor mental health. I will admit that I stood with my toes at the edge of this trap early in my teaching career. I knew I had a good voice back in my teens, but I stayed away from majors in Radio/TV or broadcast journalism mainly because I didn’t want to deal with the proverbial pay-your-dues pattern of starting out in a tiny market and working your tail off until something better opened up. That nomadic lifestyle wasn’t for me. And yet, I still looked into possibly working for a radio station here or there basically each of the first five summers of my teaching career. I knew of the voiceover world in the mid-1990s and even did a consult in the early 2000s, but it wasn’t in the cards at the time because of my established (by that time) education career and commitments to raising a family. I needed stability more than I needed to follow my dreams at that time, and education was enjoyable enough to sustain me and offered that stability. Were there bad days? Absolutely. Even dream jobs have bad days. But the good days for me outweighed the bad by a lot. Looking back, I’m glad that I came to embrace my teaching career, and pushed myself to excellence in that profession, in spite of the fact that there were other work paths that I had wondered might make me happier.

Did I love teaching? Sometimes, but not all the time. I was never the teacher who said “I just love kids” and wanted to reach everyone on some deeply personal level. That doesn’t mean I was cold or unfeeling. I got into the profession because I enjoy the learning process, so I wanted to connect with students well enough to unlock their willingness and ability to see the value of the subject. I was never going to be a quasi-surrogate parent. The days when the learning clicked were awesome. The days where there was humor were awesome. But there were definitely days that weren’t awesome, and some days downright sucked. And that’s OK. I tried my best to appreciate the days, weeks, months, and years that were great, and I put the rest behind me. And THAT is OK. I knew some teachers who needed out of the profession ASAP, because they were nothing but miserable throughout, and no amount of improvement or growth would ever move them along the bell curve toward tolerable. I knew other teachers for whom teaching absolutely was their dream job. They loved the kids, the atmosphere, the extracurricular events, the whole school thing. They were on that upper end of the bell curve, and more power to them. I had some really good years in education, and I’ve written about how, when you’re in the middle of an awesome stretch, you have to stop and soak it in. But my career was pretty dynamic in that the job itself slid around along that bell curve through highs and lows. And when it felt like it had slid to the bottom end… miserable territory…I was fortunate to be able to retire and get out. And you know what? That’s OK, too.

The point is that, for the most part, life is generally what we make it. Our works, and our careers, are what we make of them, even if we aren’t living out our dreams right now. Joy is where we find it; we just have to seek it out. Happiness is born of our own choices, strung together, and how we choose to look at our circumstances. I have little doubt that Giancarlo Esposito, being the energetic, ebullient person that he is, would probably be the happiest barista at your local Starbucks, if that’s where life took him. That’s just who he is. Fortunately for those of us who appreciate his acting work, he managed to find that career. And many of us may feel called to a career that better suits us than the one we’re currently in. If that’s you, and you’re currently miserable, then seek it, and find it. But along the way, we all have to realize that how we view our work is very much a function of our own approach, our own perspective. I’ve often said, “If you look hard enough for something to be offended at, I guarantee you’ll find it.” And I’ve come across some desperately miserable people who are constantly looking to be offended. (Although I try avoid them as much as possible. Hey! That should be another post.) But along the same lines, you could say that those who seek out joy in their work will find it, too. And that doesn’t require your work to be some kind of dream-come-true. You just have to appreciate the good things and let the bad things slide. No matter what your work is today, seek out the joy.

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The Defiant One

I’ve always found the term defiant to be mostly negative. Now, I know that the United States of America was essentially founded on principles of defiance against King George III, and that defiance in literature and pop culture is often celebrated, whether we’re talking about the rebels in Star Wars or Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird. We like to celebrate “the defiant ones” as noble souls standing tall in the face of injustice, holding firm for what’s right while their opposition defends the indefensible. And as a literary trope or a plot device in a movie where the hero has to fight against all odds with barely a shred of hope against the evil antagonist, it usually works. Truth to Power. David vs. Goliath. It makes for compelling stories. But the trope also breaks down in the real world, because the real world isn’t the black & white, good vs. evil setting that our simpler emotions crave. The world is filled with many shades and iterations of gray. As a result, I have found myself, more often than not, being a rule-follower. Because the rules are there for a reason, not because some tyrant seeks to control everything or destroy our country or our religion or our way of life or something else we hold dear. The rules, the laws, the guidelines, the norms, have all been developed and have evolved over time through careful consideration, through testing and adjustment. Often through scientific trial. Most of all, through learning.

At a certain point, there really is a fine line between defiance and stupidity. People think they’re engaging in some nobly defiant act that is either counterproductive or has no effect at all. I unintentionally learned this first-hand from observing my father’s own behavior as he aged. I’m not calling my father stupid by any means. He was one of the smartest people I knew in my early life, and he was always reading and seeking to learn about the world. That’s a character trait I’ve tried to embrace. Yet despite that willingness of learn, he was always kind of a defiant personality in the face of, shall we say “more modern,” ideas. Some of my earliest memories are of him praying the Tridentine Mass in Latin while we were at church, defiant in his belief that it was somehow superior to the “Novus Ordo,” the Mass celebrated in English. That’s just one example, and it’s related to religion, so I suppose I could understand. But the older I got, the more I noticed he was defiant about other matters in ways that were possibly detrimental to him. He kept a pair of early-1990s cars in the garage literally until the day he died, pouring money into getting them fixed despite the fact that fewer and fewer mechanics were even willing to look at them. He purchased literally the last CRT television that Sears ever sold because he somehow “didn’t trust” flat screens. (My parents only owned a flat-screen television after that one from Sears broke, no one would repair it, and I personally purchased them a new one.) He outright refused to use a computer of any kind at home, despite the fact that it kept him from maintaining closer contact with his grandchildren. Honestly, I suspect he would’ve still used a rotary-dial phone if he could have. His defiance became sort of an arbitrary, individualist mindset that I believe bordered on ridiculous, and it really undermined a lot of what I had seen of him growing up. Here was someone who taught me at a young age that learning new things mattered immensely and that adapting to change was key to thriving. Yet as he aged, he actively resisted accepting new things that might’ve improved the quality of his later life. He even came to resist the advice of doctors — outside of obvious things like blood pressure medication — and that likely damaged his long-term health. It nearly cost him his life after a fall in 1993, and I think his avoidance of medical advice probably led to a stroke in 2019 and ultimately, his passing in 2020.

At the core of my disappointment in what I was seeing wasn’t so much the defiant attitude that I had seen literally my whole life. It was the “arbitrary, individualist” aspect of it, especially in opposition to medicine, to technology, and to common sense. That’s something I see among American society as a whole these days, and I’ve written about it before. More than once. It bothers me deeply. Heck, I remember visiting a friend (now departed, RIP) back during college days and discussing the growing culture of toxic individuality and ignorance. We saw it in the 1990s. Our society has been descending into a valley of victimhood and entitlement for decades now. If you think one man is the cause, think again. He’s only the most visible symptom and emblem of it. Look around you, and you’ll see thousands, even millions, of people who are angry, self-centered, individualist souls who are arbitrarily defiant about, well…everything. You see them on the road, speeding around you because their destination is apparently more important than yours. Often driving a giant vehicle that they cannot park or even keep between the lines. You see them at food and drink establishments, treating the servers and other employees terribly, usually over something minor. You see them (or videos of them) in airports and on airplanes, engaging in fits of rage over minor inconveniences, or just crazed because they’re on (or off their) drugs. You see them at the mall, at sporting events, in movie theaters, at the park, at the grocery store, in schools, and at events of all types, “behaving badly,” for lack of a better phrase. And in every case, at the root of it, is a sense of entitlement. A sense of toxic individuality. A sense that “I am more important than everyone else.” Call it main character syndrome if you wish. It’s often couched in the phrase, “I decide what’s best for myself / my children / my family,” but at the end of the day, it’s born of a notion that this individual somehow knows better than the rules, than the law, than the experts, than civilization itself, despite the learning that has been amassed by all of humanity over the course of time. Despite the fact that each of us occupies a tiny fraction of this planet for a microscopic amount of time in the course of human history. Despite the fact that the only way humanity will continue to survive is together. And despite the fact that the core of every major religion is essentially “stop being an a**hole.” The self-absorption is mind-boggling.

Blame social media, blame the internet in general, but as time progresses in this day and age, this culture of toxic individualism rolls on in service to unfettered ignorance. Google warriors “do their own research” and decide they know what’s best about pregnancy, about governing, about child development, about international diplomacy, about vaccines, about medical care in general, about legal matters, about curriculum and other school-related topics, and even about death itself and its aftermath. Except that when you’re not very smart, and certainly when you’re not trained in a given discipline, Google is not your friend; it’s merely the enabler of your ignorance, giving you just enough information to be a little informed and a lot dangerous. It’s the kind of thing that can convince people that doctors and the FDA are merely stooges for pharmaceutical companies, yet at the same time convince them to consume a wide array “herbal remedies” and other substances that are basically untested and unregulated. Skeptical but gullible, all at once. Now, I know you reading this are probably nodding in agreement, but take a moment to realize that you probably also know someone who absolutely views Google as “research,” as a primary and unimpeachable source of information. For real; I’m not kidding. They walk among us. And this is why we have a measles epidemic. It’s why we have “flat-earthers” somehow making a comeback and actually gaining converts. It’s why there are people who believe schools have litter boxes in classrooms, teach Critical Race Theory, or actually perform gender reassignments without their parents’ knowledge. This Friday, I have very little doubt you will come across some “9/11 Truthers” out there spewing their particular brand of idiocy. Apparently one can find community through stupidity online.

For my own part, I prefer to stand in…defiance…of this pervasive attitude. “In defiance of defiance?” Sure! Seriously, I stand in defiance of the kind of toxic individualism that ultimately leads to stupidity. In defiance of resistance to technologies and medical advances (the kind backed by actual science) that can improve my life and lifespan. In defiance of entitlement. In defiance of rudeness – to other drivers, to the server, to the referee, to the cashier, to the teacher. In defiance of behaving badly. But I stand in support of learning, of cooperation, of helping one another, of realizing that society really can produce win-win outcomes that benefit us all. The world could truly be a better place with a small dose of humility and a large dose of willingness to learn and grow. One of my favorite lines from 2025’s Superman is “Maybe that’s the real punk rock,” Clark’s perspective on his own positive view of humanity. So in that spirit, I hope that my own willingness to avoid the stupidity and seek out something better — learning all I can, trusting my doctor and other experts, taking a realistic view of my own place in the world and within the span of history, and most of all, showing some basic kindness and empathy — maybe I am the defiant one.

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Self-Centered Is Self-Sabotage

Let me begin this week’s post with a mundane activity that often gets overlooked, but that, personally, gives me a great deal of satisfaction: a proper highway merge. They happen every day — a car signals their intent, enters the on-ramp, accelerates to the proper speed for the surrounding traffic, and smoothly moves into the available open space in the lane. Do it correctly, and traffic keeps moving without any problem. Do it poorly, and traffic is disrupted. Now take it one step further: the on-ramp is actually an entry/exit combo, where there’s an extra lane so that entering traffic can merge onto the freeway and exiting traffic can make their way off. It seems simple, but I find it very cool when I’m in such a merge, another driver and I both signal our intentions correctly, then we essentially switch places in the merge lane and head our separate ways. It’s a little thing, but I love it. So satisfying.

Why is it satisfying? Because two complete strangers, each piloting more than a ton of machinery down the highway, manage to 1) follow the rules of the road, 2) pay attention to each other, and 3) complete a cooperative maneuver safely and smoothly. It’s one of those fundamental tasks that serves as evidence of human ability, even without taking into account the technological marvels of the machinery itself or the road we’re driving on. We manage to cooperate without incident at 50 miles per hour or more. It’s the kind of thing that makes you wonder why people struggle so much when the traffic lights go into flashing-red status for a boulevard stop, or why they can’t deal with a school bus coming to a stop to drop off students and halting traffic, or why drivers sometimes cannot figure out how to “zipper” to merge exiting a parking lot or consolidating into a single lane on the road.. Why is it so hard?

There’s a key term in the paragraph above: Cooperate. A compound word literally meaning “work together.” Cooperation is a concept in short supply in current American culture for a variety of reasons. I’m not here to delineate any of those reasons, to decry anything about the U.S., or to discuss political, economic, or broad cultural issues. Maybe sometime in the future. But today, I’m talking about cooperation, or lack of it, in terms of how it impacts our individual lives and the goals we pursue, through the lenses of both my voiceover career and my education career. One of the fundamental problems in both of these worlds is the logical opposite of cooperation, competition, which, at its core, is rooted in individualism. Individualism and self-reliance have their place, but too much of them often gets in the way because you’re too interested in beating someone rather than working with or helping them. In other words, when you’re self-centered, you focus on competing, not cooperating. This produces conflict, and it can actually hinder your career.

Competition is ultimately a self-centered notion. Yes, it is possible to have cooperation in competitive sports, because the members of one team have to cooperate among themselves to succeed against the opponent. But that’s the beauty of team sports: in order to compete, you have to cooperate first. It’s also one of the things I have always loved about being involved in band. Talk about the “3 Cs” of success: Collaboration, Communication, and Cooperation, all in service to learning to perform with musical excellence, both on the marching field and the concert stage. And yes, band can be a competitive venture, but ensembles that may not score at the top of a given recap sheet can still build success because they >>ta-da<< work and grow together. Ask any band member — or a member of a successful athletic or other team — and their memories usually don’t focus on a particular trophy, but rather the other people with whom they worked and sweated and cried and cheered and busted their tails trying to reach their goals. Sure, championships groups will always hold on to that achievement, but what truly makes it special are the people with whom you achieved.

Along the way, the most infuriating people you encounter are the ones who refuse to cooperate. Who won’t commit to the goals of the group. Who focus more on themselves than the team. Honestly, it’s why the concept of “cooperative learning” gave me proverbial hives as both a student and a teacher — place me in a group of 4-5 people, and I guarantee that I will work hard on the task at hand, even if it’s a little silly (I’m wired that way), but I also guarantee that at least one of the people in the group will NOT work hard, will not pull their own weight, and will be essentially an empty seat. I’ll bet you, dear reader, can remember a time or two when you had a deadbeat group member, which is why you, too, hated “group work” in school. Because there’s always someone who’s self-centered, selfish, or otherwise in conflict with the intended purpose of the given group. Maybe this person is competitive, or maybe they’re just naturally contrary. But they disrupt the collective efforts of everyone else. The concept doesn’t just stay isolated in school environments. Somewhere, there’s a company whose employees are expected to work together on projects, and there’s also that one person who just doesn’t step up and deliver for the group. Somewhere, there’s a professional athletic team with a player who is more concerned with his/her own statistics than with the performance of the team. And yes, somewhere there just might be a voiceover talent who places more emphasis on his/her “artistic concerns” than on the needs of the very people who hired him/her. And yes, somewhere there might be a teacher who isn’t helpful to colleagues, particularly new ones, and creates an unproductive competitive environment between him/herself and the other teachers “on the team.”

You might suspect that I experienced that last one, and you would be correct. I mentioned in a previous post about how the first five years of my education career were rough, and one of the fundamental reasons was my so-called “mentor teacher.” As I mentioned previously, I was initially hired to teach government and economics, and I was handed a class of each consisting 100% of special education students…because, as the established government and economics teachers said, “we just can handle working with them.” This pair of teachers were the only teachers of these classes prior to my hiring, and as they put it, “we consider our classes a rite of passage for seniors.” Obviously, there was a fair amount of arrogance from the outset, and my assigned mentor — the government teacher — carried most of it. He was that teacher who considered his little classroom in the portable building to be his own little fiefdom where he had total control, and his materials and assignments were proprietary to the highest degree. Before the year started, he handed me his “lesson plans” from the previous year (printed on a dot matrix printer — hello, 1994), and that was essentially my guide to, I don’t know…how to teach government? That was the extent of sharing and collegiality from this individual. I quickly came to realize that A) he printed those plans for administration but didn’t actually follow them, and B) I was on my own. And I would eventually hear tales of him discussing the differences between “the two government classes” with his own classes as my students and his compared notes and assignments. It became a sort of competitive environment, perhaps even a little toxic. While I don’t think in hindsight that it hindered or sabotaged my career, I know it didn’t help it. And the conflict that persisted those first three years was eventually why I was moved over to world geography in year 4. Mercifully, after that move, I found other teachers with whom to collaborate and from whom to learn and advance my skills. That feeling of cooperation within the world geography team likely saved my teaching career. Had I been consigned to a lonely world filled with competition and resentment, I probably would’ve left the profession completely.

Fortunately, my voiceover career hasn’t been quite so rough, despite the reputation the industry has for being competitive. Sure, there are thousands of “voiceover talents” out there, but one of the things that I and many others notice is that voice actors are very giving and helpful toward one another. In a world that should be ultra-competitive, there is instead an environment of collaboration, transparency, and cooperation, even from the oldest and most established talents toward brand-new talents seeking their own paths. Not everything is free, but information and advice are abundant, and the atmosphere is more welcoming than you might imagine. But one thing that inspired this post came unexpectedly during a voiceover conference I recently attended. The conference was a great experience overall, and I learned a lot from a variety of people, but during a break between sessions, I overheard a conversation between two people who were lamenting their own difficulties in the industry, and the mindset was rather revealing, and little disconcerting given how helpful everyone at the conference was. One woman was discussing her difficulties at getting any traction with auditions and bookings. She recounted to her friend that growing up, she wanted to be famous “like Dolly Parton.” (Ironic given the events of Tuesday. RIP Dolly.) I didn’t really pay attention to any of the further details, but it seemed like the general point of the conversation was basically all about “me, me, me” and “my voice” and the overall view that she didn’t think anyone was giving her a fair chance in the industry. It really bothered me because the attitude was in serious contrast to just about everything I was hearing in sessions and conversations at this conference. I mean, what do you expect? It’s a welcoming industry, but it can also be a grind, so you have to persist and really work at all of it. No one’s going to get “discovered,” but literally look around you and you’ll find many people willing to help you figure out how to get your own career going.

Even before the events of Tuesday and the tributes to Dolly Parton, my initial reaction to what I heard was a mix of surprise and skepticism, because anyone who was a fan of Dolly knew that she worked incredibly hard establishing herself as a country singer and songwriter, and if things weren’t going her way, she never whined about it and just worked harder. And Dolly’s efforts were never about herself, but about writing music that appealed to her fans, doing things that served her community, and just helping others. The tributes starting Tuesday merely cemented those ideas with tales of how graceful and genuine she was as a person. So looking back, hearing another voiceover talent complaining and being self-centered drove home the notion that this person was really missing the point. You want to be famous like Dolly? Work your tail off. Bring something to the table that no one else can. Find an audience to serve, and serve them. And most of all, work well with others. Cooperate. Collaborate. That’s what leads to success. And that brings me back full circle to the point of this post. Individualism, self-centered behavior, greed…they’re forces that can motivate people in a free society, and certainly in a capitalist economy, but they’re not the point or the goal. Capitalism is supposed to reward you when you provide someone else something better than they can themselves. That’s why they pay you; that’s why they say “Thank You.” And you thank them back for the reward that you should have rightfully earned by providing quality. It’s a Win-Win mentality. Self-centered perspective without regard for someone else leads nowhere. Stop worrying about winning a competition or prevailing in a conflict. Stop adopting a Win-Lose mentality. Focus on how you can work with someone else toward a purpose that is mutual, whether that’s as simple as a safe, smooth transition on a freeway, as complex as planning lessons with teaching colleagues, or as creative as a project or event for which you provide a voiceover. Cooperate toward a greater goal, a collective goal. Play a part in a larger story, and serve. It’s satisfying.

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In Fact, It IS That Difficult…

“It can’t be THAT difficult to…” We hear the sentiment time and again, how easy it must be to accomplish the things we observe on TV, in a movie, on a show, while we sit at a restaurant or stand in a store, when we’re at the game. It can’t be that difficult, right? How difficult is it for your server to get the drinks and bring them back to the table? How difficult is it for that batter to see the ball going WAY outside, and not swing? How difficult is it to teach simple 8th grade math concepts? How difficult is it for the quarterback to hit the open receiver? How difficult is it for the barista to make your coffee? How difficult is it for the goalkeeper to clear the ball from his side of the field? How difficult is it for the store manager to see that they need to open another checkout lane? How difficult is it for the team’s general manager to put together a competitive roster? How difficult is it for that news anchor or radio host to read the teleprompter, or pronounce that word, or just express a coherent thought? How difficult is it to give us exactly what we want, when we want it? Because you know, it’s JUST [fill in blank here].

You might read the questions above and realize there’s difficulty in literally every activity addresseded above, and so many more. And if you do, you would be in the minority. We live in a time of extraordinary entitlement, filled with people demanding everything, all the time, right now, and if you can’t deliver it, then you must be some kind of moron. Because it’s easy. It’s just water or soft drinks. It’s obvious on the TV. It’s only basic algebraic concepts. It’s a simple throw. It’s only coffee. It’s just kicking a ball. It’s obvious to everyone in the store. This or that team manages to acquire great players all the time. It’s just reading or talking. Why are you so dense that you can’t get it done?

Last post, I wrote about “confident idiocy,” which is essentially born of an appalling lack of self-awareness and introspection, thinking you know better than experts despite lack of knowledge, or perhaps because of a tiny bit of knowledge that you decide is enough. But this post is more about a growing lack of empathy, a lack of respect for the efforts of others, a judgmental arrogance that assumes someone else is an idiot because they’re not delivering what we literally take for granted. Maybe call this person a churlish egomaniac; I don’t know. But where the confident idiot refuses help or expertise because he/she assumes he/she knows enough, the churlish egomaniac assumes someone else is an idiot because they’re not meeting some kind of preconceived expectation and are therefore devoid of any claim to respect or dignity.

Several years ago, I knew someone who thought her son was basically a genius. Granted, he was smart and hard-working, but not some type of prodigy who could skip grade levels or create art, math equations, or science experiments that were extraordinarily advanced for his age. And in Grade 8, this student struggled a little with math. He wasn’t failing, but he was making some Bs and perhaps even Cs on some assignments. And that was apparently unacceptable for this person’s precious angel. So of course, it was the teacher’s fault. “She’s terrible. They need to fire her.” And then came the kicker, “…how hard could it be for the school to find a better math teacher?!?” Naturally, the educator in me had to speak up and point out that A) lots of students struggle here and there with Grade 8 math (it’s a very common tale); B) that teacher had been at that school for several years, so there’s inadequate evidence to declare this teacher “terrible” just because your kid made some grades below an A; and C) math teachers are simply not easy to find, especially good ones, especially at the junior high level. So how hard could it be? INCREDIBLY hard. Incredibly hard to convince a capable individual to get a degree in a math-related field, pursue a teaching certificate in math, learn to manage school classrooms, AND accept a job teaching at a public junior high school. Oh, and do so in a way that resonates perfectly with your son, who might be challenging to instruct at the ripe old age of 13 despite how brilliant you think he is. These people are not plentiful, and the people who do devote themselves to teaching this subject at this grade level deserve some level of respect. And to conclude otherwise is probably a little egotistical, and even more churlish.

But this is often how people respond, isn’t it? We forget that the batter who just struck out isn’t seeing the ball in slow-motion replay; he’s watching it in real time at around 90 miles-per-hour and has a split second to react before it curves that far outside. We don’t consider that he was the best player on every team he played for until he was 18, or that he has immersed himself physically and mentally in this game, possibly to his own long-term detriment, to fulfill the dream of playing at this level. Same goes for that goalkeeper who whiffs a kick in a huge match. Or perhaps the quarterback who throws an interception while trying to lead his team on a critical drive. These athletes trained for this their entire lives. They make a critical mistake at the worst possible time, and they might be haunted by it for the rest of their lives. Do you really think berating and booing them over it has any productive effect at all? I know that many of them makes obscene amounts of money, but that’s only because the entertainment industry that promotes the sport in which they participate compensates them for all the talent and work they’ve put into their own performance. Anyone who ascends to a “world-class” level is going to be paid well, especially when there’s TV money involved. But that doesn’t mean they’re always going to get the hit, make the throw or catch successfully, get the save, make the shot, or kick the winning goal. That’s “how it goes,” as they say, and we don’t have to respond with churlishness. If it’s that bad, turn off the TV, or stop buying tickets, and stop supporting the player or the team. It’s the lovely thing about living in a society based on free choice — you’re not being forced to go, or watch, or pay any attention at all to these athletes you think are terrible, or these movies you don’t care for, or those TV shows you think are bad.

What’s even worse is when the object of our churlish egomania isn’t making obscene money. We lament how long it takes to get our glass of water or our plate of food, ignoring the fact that the server is working 3 additional tables besides our 12-top, for below minimum wages plus tips. We don’t know if there are issues in the kitchen that are slowing the servers down or other factors influencing the circumstances. We look down our noses at the barista who’s working on five different orders at once, trying to get everyone taken care of quickly and accurately, and we ignore that this person might have several other things going on in their life that might just slow them down or otherwise interfere with our own expectations. So what if they make a mistake? You just ask, and they’ll make it right. So what if they take an extra minute or two? If you’re in that much of a hurry, maybe you should’ve left earlier or skipped this trip to the coffee house. Show some grace. They’re definitely not making pro-athlete money here. We crab about the store manager who’s not doing enough, in our minds, to get extra cashiers at the front lanes on our trip to big box retailer. How do we know they haven’t had people call in sick? How do we know they aren’t just short-staffed this day, this week, or this month? Patience costs nothing. Grace costs nothing. And if you don’t have the time to wait, perhaps come back another time when you’ll have more time. Or heck, shop somewhere else if this place always has long wait times.

But that would involve seeking to solve the problem for ourselves, wouldn’t it? And that’s too much trouble. So instead, far too many people adopt their own churlish, egomaniacal stance and decide “it can’t be THAT difficult.” Because complaints are consequence-free when you dismiss the difficulty of a given job out-of-hand. And that paves the way for dehumanizing the server, the barista, the cashier, the actor, or the athlete, even when those people may simply be having a bad day. But what if we put ourselves in their shoes? Not figuratively, but literally. I am or have been a part of two separate industries where people do just that, because they assumed going in that “it couldn’t be that difficult.” Lots of people assume that because they were once a student for 12+ years, they should be able to gain certification, and become teachers, with ease. And yet, the landscape is riddled with people who, quite possibly, spent several years and a fair amount of money getting teaching certification, only to discover in the actual classroom that it really IS that difficult, and this profession isn’t for them. Similarly, lots of people assume that voiceover is a really easy career path, because “it’s only talking.” So they buy a $140 Blue Yeti microphone from Best Buy (or if they’re beholden to trends, a $440 Shure SM7B) and declare themselves “voice artists.” And they don’t realize the coaching, practice, recording and production work, marketing, and more coaching that voiceover demands for someone to become a true professional, and to maintain their skills to meet the changing needs of buyers in a dynamic industry literally built on the latest trends. And so, the landscape is riddled with people who claim to “work in voiceover” but have never booked a job, ever. And voiceover “pay-to-play” casting sites have thousands of unused subscriptions, along with thousands of weak auditions with terrible audio and a read that sounds exactly like someone reading awkwardly from a script. And eBay has lots of lightly used Blue Yetis and Shure SM7Bs available very cheaply. And there are hundreds of podcasts with poor production quality and not much to say, that are heard by no one. Because it IS that difficult, to learn true voiceover skill, to develop recording and production knowledge, to establish a client base, and to deliver quality work for which buyers pay good money. Not Fiverr money, good money. The truth is that anyone wanting to make decent money in teaching, voiceover, sports, acting, waiting tables, or any other skilled profession, has to work at it. A lot. For a long time. They might not need to love it, but they at least need to like it enough to put in the amount and type of work that is rewarded on a higher level.

And there’s the trick, right? “Churlish egomania,” much like “confident idiocy,” is born of a pervasive laziness underlying our sense of entitlement and superiority. The person with access to quality higher education, who never finishes a degree and bounces randomly from job-to-job without ever settling into an actual career often does so because this person doesn’t have the wherewithal to engage in the work it takes to establish a career, let alone thrive in one. That’s why they never finished a degree in the first place. That’s why they dabble but never commit. But you’d better believe this person has something to say when their meal is slow to arrive or appears below expectations. Avoiding such behavior requires a conscious choice. That means avoiding the laziness that fosters entitlement in an effort to abandon that sense of entitlement altogether. It means realizing that, yes, that job probably IS that difficult, even if we consider it menial, and especially if it looks easy. That person doing the job makes it look easy most of the time, because they took the time and made effort to master the skills involved. While it may seem inviting to suggest that everyone should be required to teach for a semester, or work in retail for a quarter, or wait tables for a month, it’s not a realistic solution. But everyone can at least admit that they might not be capable of handling those jobs, then adopt a more gracious, empathetic perspective toward them. Honestly, if we were all so talented and knowledgeable about running a baseball team, we’d probably all be working as professional baseball general managers. If we knew how to prepare extravagant meals quickly, we would be doing it instead of relying on someone else. If we were that great hitting a baseball, we’d be getting paid handsomely to swing a bat. If we could do it ourselves, we would. And since we can’t, and don’t, maybe we can treat the people doing any of these jobs better. Because the job really IS that difficult. But treating another person with dignity shouldn’t be.

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The Dangers of Confident Idiocy

We are idiots. Every single one of us. Not all the time, but enough of the time. Most of us don’t intend to be idiots; we just are. Because humans are prone to make mistakes. Humans are prone to make poor choices. Humans are prone to indecision that leads to negative consequences. Even if you’re smart, well-educated, mature, and wise, you have and/or will come across a moment that you will look back on someday and declare, “Boy, I sure was an idiot when _______.” Possibly more than one. It’s really part of the human condition. Idiocy can be the very thing that leads us to wisdom, IF we’re willing to learn, to grow, to accept our own limitations and either work to overcome them or accept help. But that can be a tough thing, “willing to…” In a country like the United States, where so many in the populace pride themselves on a myth of self-reliance and individualism, a “by my own bootstraps” mindset that often ignores and avoids admitting mistakes and seeking help, it’s no wonder that wisdom and maturity end up in short supply. What replaces them is often unwarranted confidence mixed with a large dose of ignorance, or worse, just a tiny bit of knowledge. It becomes an almost poisonous mix that isn’t likely to lead to anything good. And the confident idiot that decides to forge ahead armed only with their own self-assurance and misconceptions tends to wreak havoc on themselves and possibly others.

We have all met these people. My own life has been littered with them, among family, co-workers, acquaintances, and even, occasionally, people I call friends. Although to be fair, I try to be a good friend who gently challenges my friends’ notions when they’re confident in their own idiocy. Because friends don’t let friends be idiots. Friends don’t let friends embark alone on some project for which they are massively unqualified. A friend honestly asks, “Do you have the background and experience to make that work?” Friends don’t watch each other looking pale and worn out, stopping to catch their breath while simply walking, and say nothing, especially if it’s something unusual. Friends don’t let friends ignore the pain in their side, or in their knees, or especially in their head. A friend notices the change in behavior and says, “Maybe you should see a doctor.” Better to be safe than sorry, to be prepared than overmatched, to seek help when it’s appropriate.

Health issues are commonly where we all experience, and possibly engage in, confident idiocy. When’s the last time you had a physical exam complete with tests of at least your blood and urine? I know that might be a sensitive question, but the answer often reveals this behavior pattern. I will admit that I had been resistant to the annual physical exam prior to entering my 50s, but I am happy to say I got over my trepidation, found a doctor who I believed would give me the kind of direct, no-nonsense advice I need, and committed to regular checkups. More importantly, I follow his advice and make the adjustments to diet, exercise, lifestyle, etc., that he recommends. I’m not going to be the guy who assumes “when you go to the doctor, it’s guaranteed they’ll find something wrong.” I’m not going to be the guy who hears the doctor but only listens selectively because “I was a pre-med major during my freshman year in college.” (Who-knows-how many years ago…) I’m not going to be the guy who arbitrarily decides that all doctors are just stooges of big pharma, looking to prescribe unnecessary medications. Sure, if you think your doctor is over-medicating you, then seek out someone new. But drawing conclusions about all doctors, especially if you have no medical training, is irresponsible and irrational. And no, watching stuff about medical professionals on YouTube doesn’t qualify as medical training. Consulting a doctor only when you’re sick, ignoring regular exams, and especially ignoring standard medical advice isn’t a smart path to a healthy and productive life. Why ignore or even actively defy the opinion(s) of experts who have spent years training and practicing their craft, which is designed to help you?

Therein lies a key to the confident idiot. Expertise. Or rather, lack of expertise. The confident idiot doesn’t subscribe to needing experts. They don’t think they need assistance. They don’t want your fancy “book learning.” “They’ve done just fine with their finances, or their health, or their emotions, or their vehicles, or their home, or, or, or…” And therefore, they believe they have no need of “so-called experts.” Anytime you hear someone use that phrase, you can expect to encounter confident idiocy, because the phrase “so-called” intentionally attempts to belittle the experts, thereby elevating the apparent knowledge of the confident idiot, at least in his/her mind. “So-called” is nothing more than an attempt to dismiss expertise — of the doctor, the nurse, the physician’s assistant, the attorney, the legal assistant, the teacher, the principal, counselor, the therapist, the auto mechanic, the industrial engineer, the architect, the urban planner, the government worker, the realtor, the HVAC technician, the plumber, the roofer, the musician, the videographer, the photographer, the sound engineer, the contractor, the electrician, the construction worker…heck, even the server at a restaurant. Think of any profession that requires a measurable amount of training and experience, wherein the individual develops any level of expertise on a subject over time, and there is a confident idiot out there who will refer to that person as a “so-called expert.” That’s the mental game that’s played. And in this era of social media and YouTube, too often the mental game leads to content creation designed to belittle expertise on a global scale. And confident idiocy spreads like a virus.

That virus does damage, and plenty of it. Sometimes the damage seems minor, like when an obstinate husband insists that he knows where he’s going, so he refuses to ask anyone for directions or consult GPS and ultimately gets lost, or at least arrives late to the destination. Sometimes the damage is major, like the parent who rejects routine vaccinations on behalf of her children for eradicated diseases like measles, only to spark an outbreak of measles later on. “But I saw a video on YouTube explaining the dangers of childhood vaccines.” What did your doctor say? “I don’t trust doctors.” Uh-huh. Sometimes the damage is downright catastrophic, like the lifelong smoker who refuses to quit, who eats unhealthy much of the time, and who doesn’t heed tiny warning signs until it’s too late. “If only we knew.” You could’ve known, except for the confident idiocy that assumed everything would just be fine and avoided routines scans and checkups. Sometimes the damage has a ripple effect, like the parent who insists on “home-schooling” her child despite being wholly unqualified to do so, then attempts to enroll that child as a high school freshman only to learn the student is several years behind academically. “Can you still help her get into a good college?” Let’s try to ensure she can pass high school classes first, let alone graduate. College is the least of her worries right now. Or perhaps it’s the person who died without any kind of will, or a will that hasn’t been properly prepared and/or vetted by a licensed attorney, so the estate goes through more hassles and legal fees than necessary. All because a confident idiot just decided that attorneys’ fees are merely attempts to siphon off cash with no benefit. Uh-huh. Instead, that person passes more expensive burdens onto the survivors in the name of self-reliance. “I can do it just fine.” Can you?

And therein lies the real question: How well can you, the person in the mirror, succeed without help, and in what ventures? Maybe you are the kind of person who can learn with incredible ease, and a few trustworthy videos online and perhaps a book or two are all you need to learn what you need. Or maybe you’re not. Or maybe you have no idea what you really need. I’ve observed both types of people many times, both in the education world and in the voiceover world. And the truth is, even the people who can figure it out easily on their own usually shouldn’t because they don’t have to. There’s always someone available to help, and they’re not always cost-prohibitive, especially when you consider the greater cost of insisting on individuality, failing spectacularly, and being forced to seek help, sometimes in desperation. For every person who is adept at using YouTube to figure out how to complete a complex project, there are many more that mess it up and spend more money calling in an expert to clean up the mess. The education world is riddled with teachers who struggled or failed unnecessarily because they refused help. The voiceover world is riddled with talents who were forced to work harder because they refused to seek quality coaching and/or sent out a terrible DIY demo. But seeking out help when you don’t even know you might need it requires a significant amount of introspection. It requires you to take a truly honest look in the mirror, at your own skills, at your own experience, and at your own goals, and admitting that maybe, just maybe…you, too, are an idiot in the context at hand. But at the very least, you don’t have to project false confidence about yourself in spite of it.

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Get Busy Living

What matters to you? I don’t mean abstract philosophical concepts like peace, love, and happiness. This isn’t a pageant interview. But I’ll ask again: What matters to you? More specifically, what aspects of your life matter to you? What are your personal and professional priorities? Who do you care about? Whose company do you enjoy? Whose presence do you value? Who and what make you better, as a professional, as a family member, as a parent or child, as a human being? What people, thoughts, items, attitudes, habits, foods, routines, and experiences help you live a better life?

Yes, that is a lot of introspection heading into a holiday weekend in the middle of summer. But don’t forget, the second half of 2026 just began, so it’s a great time to re-evaluate the year’s progress, and these questions serve a deeper purpose tied to a simple concept: Life Is Short. If you prefer, “life moves pretty fast,” as Ferris Bueller famously quipped. Or pick another favorite maxim — Live Life to the Fullest. Make Every Moment Count. Dance Like No One’s Watching. Time Waits for No One. Carpe Diem. These are all actually uplifting sentiments, geared toward personal progress. For me, they’ve been incredibly comforting of late, because I’ve recently been cataloging the losses I’ve experienced, either personally or vicariously, over the past few years.

Out of nowhere (not really, but it felt like it), I received the news recently that my high school graduating class is having its 40-year reunion this fall. Yes, I graduated high school in 1986; I’m old. I never attended my 10-, 20-, 25-, 30-, or 35-year reunions (most likely because I was involved in some kind of PA announcing gig or something similar), but I’ll actually be free to attend this year, and I really want to go. One of the requests made by an organizer was an update on all the members of our class that we know have passed away. They want to have a tribute featuring photos of those who are no longer around to join us, and I love the idea. Trouble is, researching for those kinds of projects is tough, not because the information is difficult to find, but because you have to learn or relive news about all the people who have died with whom you literally grew up. It’s a bit of a gut-punching exercise. Sometimes I’ve run across old stories about people who passed away tragically in an accident. More often, I’ve learned that several people in my class suffered with disease before passing away. I learned during this search that one of my friends whom I first met back in junior high had died suddenly in 2013 due to complications from the flu. I came to learn she had devoted her adult life to nonprofit service benefiting impoverished youth and homeless adults, and that her unexpected passing impacted many beyond her family. Empirically, I understand that tragedies like this are a statistical likelihood, but still, when it’s someone whose face, voice, and demeanor you remember perfectly, it hits you. When you learn about the things they accomplished in life before dying, and read tributes offered by those who knew them as adults, it can be heartbreaking.

The process became even more difficult as the layers I peeled back during this exercise revealed or reminded me of losses that weren’t in my graduating class. You come across news like this, and you fall down the proverbial rabbit hole, recalling loss after loss. I had a friend who graduated in 1985, who I had even encountered at a 5k race in 2019. I learned that he passed from cancer two years later. I remembered two different former teaching colleagues I knew from working summer drum major camps who had passed away in 2020 and 2022. I recalled another teaching colleague who had battled cancer tenaciously since 2019 but finally succumbed in the fall of 2025. A man I knew from my church died suddenly of a heart attack last August, literally days after I had spoken with him. I also learned recently that my supervising teacher from my student teaching experience had passed away in October 2024. Of course, there have been losses in my family in recent years, including my father in 2020 and my mother just this past February. Sure, death is a part of life, but it can be really sobering to explore it consistently.

But while it can be an easy trap to lament the fragility of life and offer a morose monologue like Billy Crystal at the beginning of City Slickers, what I realize more deeply after exploring these passings is that each day we have on this planet really IS a gift. We’re therefore called to do something with each day, aren’t we? I believe we are, regardless of whether one believes in God or not. But what we are specifically called to do isn’t necessarily some grand gesture, some massive project that revolutionizes things, or some miraculous achievement that will live in the proverbial record books for years to come. Sure, those are great, but there’s real beauty in life to be found from day-to-day activities, even if they might seem mundane. Beauty in being genuinely nice to others, not for any type of appearance or advantage, but just because we should. Beauty in doing certain things because they’re necessary, or helpful, or just the right thing to do. Beauty in being a decent human being. There’s beauty in just about everything around us, too, including nature and man-made things. I consider incumbent upon us to have at least marginal appreciation for the beauty of each day, and of this world, and to show it at some level.

Does this mean we all need to spin around every day like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music and sing? Of course not, although if that’s your thing, you do you. My point is that daily life is all about priorities. Just as we are called to certain things, we are NOT called to other things. We’re NOT called to drive angry, and gripe at other drivers. For that matter, we are NOT called to drive cluelessly, without regard for the rules of the road, mindlessly focused on ourselves, our phones or some other distraction. We are NOT called to obsess over every negative person at our work, or every menial task, or every annoying element. We are NOT called to negative emotions about things we see on the internet, annoying or offensive as they may be. We are NOT called to jealousy or judgment over things we see on social media. We are NOT called to obsess over political matters, nor are we called to wrap our own identities in affiliation with a political party or any politician. We are NOT called to wrap ourselves in isolation, constantly viewing the world only through the lens of video games, or YouTube, or other video sites, or social media, or even simply broadcast or cable television. Granted, some of the things I’ve just described can be unavoidable. Everyone has “one of those days” at work or at home. Everyone enjoys a little time in front of a TV or a computer. Everyone has encounters on the road, or at work, or at a store, that are challenging due to a disagreement, a misunderstanding, or just plain stupidity. These things will happen. But if your day is consumed or “ruined” by these things, you are missing an opportunity.

Every day is an opportunity for each one of us. We can notice the beauty of nature — blue skies, cool cloud formations, healthy vegetation, birds in the air, ducks on a pond, even dogs on walks with their owners. We can marvel at the intricacy of the network of roads we’ve managed to develop, even if we’re stuck in traffic or have to avoid bumps and potholes. Most importantly, we should acknowledge how fortunate each of us is to live and breathe in an era where life expectancy is as long as its ever been, and where so many of our “problems” are issues of inconvenience. Is it a perfect world? Far from it, but even as we work to resolve real problems like food insecurity, homelessness, and healthcare inequity, we can acknowledge good fortune, good works, and most importantly, good people.

At the end of the day (literally), the question becomes, on-balance, are we fulfilled? In other words, did the positives of our day outweigh the negatives? We know we’ll encounter negatives; it’s inevitable. Sometimes we have to seek out the positives to outweigh the negatives and achieve fulfillment. Daily fulfillment slowly adds up. At the end of our lives, we can look back not in anger, but in peace. This is why people say no one ever laid on their death bed wishing they could spend more time at work, or in traffic, or watching the news. Instead, they wish they could watch a sunset or sunrise, pet their dog, walk in the park, or have more time with their loved ones. It’s at the heart of “Get Busy Living, or Get Busy Dying,” from The Shawshank Redemption. I’ve written about this mindset before. In fact, I reposted those thoughts on the brevity of life with an audio version just last week. Knowing we will encounter negative stimuli in this world, knowing that fulfillment will ultimately come from the positives outweighing the negatives, it’s imperative every day for us to seek out that which enriches us and avoid that which strains us. To take the Shawshank metaphor a step further, we have to leave behind the prisons (often of our own making) that confine us, and seek something better. For many of those friends and colleagues that are gone too soon, I take comfort in the knowledge that they served others, that they didn’t die easy or angry, that they were surrounded by love and support, not jealousy, politics, bitterness, sloth, cowardice, or entitlement.

When I was in the classroom teaching economics, I always approached the concept of scarcity — unlimited needs and wants juxtaposed against limited resources — with a personal exercise for students: everyone has their time, talent, and energy, and the economics of an individual’s life hinged upon the choices they made with those resources. Students had to answer A) what they sought from their economic lives and B) how they might intend to achieve it within the confines of their time, talent, and energy. And the lesson always came back to this: Talent and energy can be manipulated, grown, and developed, but the only truly fixed quantity in our lives is time. And we waste way too much of it on things that don’t take us where we wish to go. (Talent and energy, too.) Given that reality, that frame of reference, why would we spend another minute thinking about people who do nothing but bring us down? Why would we care at all about what someone says about us online, or in a text, or even in a conversation behind our backs? Why would we engage with anyone who is fundamentally dishonest, or self-absorbed, or perpetually angry? Why would we worry about what someone else thinks about what we’re wearing, or watching, or doing with our time? Why would we remain working at jobs we hate that offer no redeeming qualities, moments, or co-workers? Granted, as I mentioned earlier, some things are unavoidable — all but a select few of us will have to work to earn money, we all have to clean and maintain our living quarters, we all have to complete menial tasks. But outside of what’s necessary, we are not obligated to immerse ourselves in the negative. And it really doesn’t matter if you’ve worked at this place for 10 years, or you’ve known this person forever, or your parents did things this way, or even if that person is a family member. If the day-to-day balance is negative, then sometimes habits, things, places, and even people need to become part of the past. Too often, we are overcome by the negatives and fail to immerse ourselves in the positives of life. We don’t make time for those things, people, and experiences that will fulfill us. Mohandas Gandhi famously said, “You must be the change you wish to see in the world.” But before you can do that, you might have to facilitate the change you need to see in yourself. Feed the parts of yourself that need to grow. Spend your time doings the things, cultivating the habits, being around the people who make you, and your life, better. So I ask again: What matters to you?

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Say. My. Name.

Your name is one of the first words you recognize in life. It is critical to your early development, giving you identity, offering you a sense of importance when people take the time to learn it, and especially to use it. You’ll hear it your entire life. It is each individual’s ultimate symbol of recognition. “That’s my name. That’s me.” Learning and using someone’s name establishes a sense of connection. Alternatively, not using it, or saying it incorrectly, creates a sense of estrangement or worse, animosity. Some people who consistently hear their name mispronounced, especially by teachers and other adults over the course of an academic career, might get used to it. They resign themselves to accept that their name will be mildly butchered consistently, and they look forward hopefully toward that day when someone will actually say it right.

That academic career will eventually reach an important benchmark, a life event known as Graduation Day. I think most people have mixed feelings when they ponder Graduation Day. On one level, it represents the culmination of academic achievement; completing 12-13 years of compulsory education, 1-3 years of post-secondary work, or perhaps 4-12 or more years at the collegiate level. Its beauty lies in its status as closure, even though it’s often called commencement, a term that also means “beginning.” On another level, it perfectly encapsulates the notion of “hurry up and wait.” Arrive at the venue 2 or more hours early; proceed into a holding room and sit, or even stand, for 30-60 minutes. March out into the venue or onto the stage, then sit some more and listen to speeches in which you may only Be mildly interested. All of it just so you, your family, and perhaps some friends, can experience the briefest of moments, perhaps as many as 5 seconds, where your name is announced and you begin to walk, after which you shake several hands belonging to people you may or may not know, and you receive an empty diploma cover that will, eventually, contain the single piece of paper for which you have sacrificed and studied. Depending on the age of the participants, Graduation Day elicits a sense of respect, fondness, or even derision from observers. At some point, Kindergarten Graduation became a fairly standard thing at most elementary schools, much to the chagrin of some. At campuses that serve grades K though 8, Eighth Grade Graduation is still common, which makes sense, given that students attended the school for up to 9 years. Then again, we’re living in an era when many public school districts separate into elementary, intermediate, and middle schools, and let’s face it: holding graduations at Kindergarten, Fourth Grade, Sixth Grade, and Eighth Grade is overkill. But they all pale in comparison to High School Graduation.

Some observers actually scoff at High School Graduation, as well, because “It’s not that big of a deal; we all know we’re going to make it out of high school.” We could argue about how that’s actually NOT the case for everyone, since there are still students for whom the endurance needed to complete high school is a challenge, and believe it or not, there are still families where a given student walking the stage this May is the first one in the family to do so. But the worthiness of the achievement isn’t the point. The point is that High School Graduation is a time-honored rite of passage, maybe one of the most important and universal such experiences across countries, cultures, and creeds. It is, as I stated earlier, a life event. A big one. (That’s why multiple graduations at earlier grade levels get so annoying; they dilute the experience.) The High School Graduation is pretty unique and special precisely because it is the culmination of more than a decade of academic work. And at its core is that moment for each individual student when their name is announced, and they cross the stage. It will happen literally millions of times this May and June, so it may be easy to dismiss from a statistical perspective, but from a human perspective, each name is monumentally important, in each moment, to that graduate. And the pressure placed on the individual announcing those names is massive. All eyes are on each student, but all ears are cued in to the name announcer, hoping to hear each one spoken correctly.

For me, as a voiceover talent, Graduation Day approaches nirvana. It is one of the most daunting yet exhilarating Live Announce experiences a VO pro can have. I relish that feeling, I love the gig, and I approach it with the utmost seriousness. 2026 marks the 31st year I will read names at a high school graduation. My first foray into announcing names at graduation came in 1996 at Mansfield High School, when I was actually part of a team of 3 people. Two years later, I was asked to announce all the names, for a reason I will detail later. When Summit High School recognized its first graduating class in 2003, I announced all those names. A decade later, Mansfield ISD hired me to announce all names at all of its graduations, and I continued with that privilege even after I departed the district in 2019. Budget cuts ended that run, but I still announced graduation for Grand Prairie High School during the five years I worked there from 2021 through 2025. Now, after my retirement from K-12 public education, I’ve been fortunate to be hired as Peter Ponce, Voice Talent, by Burleson ISD and Grand Prairie ISD to announce all names for all their ceremonies. I cannot wait to showcase these students.

“Showcase?” you ask. Absolutely. That is what it’s all about. I’ve written before about how PA work is about the event, not the announcer. And for a high school graduation, that rule is more important than ever. It applies not just to the singular event, but to every single student participating. When it comes down to it, everyone in the venue at a high school graduation is there for one thing, but it’s ironically a different thing for nearly everyone. They don’t care about the speeches, hearing the choir sing whatever traditional song the school uses, seeing some kind of special performance, or the accolades the principal will highlight. They don’t care how much scholarship money the class has been offered, or the advice the superintendent or another speaker offers. They want to hear two things: 1) the official Statement of Conferral by the superintendent, wherein the students are actually deemed “graduates,” and 2) the name of the person(s) they’re here to celebrate. And depending on where #2 occurs in the full list of graduates, there will be some restlessness in the room, so get to the end sooner than later, please.

I like to joke with people that I am the only person anyone wants to hear speaking at graduation. And there’s a little bit of truth embedded in the joke. There’s a reason that Mansfield ISD originally hired me to do six ceremonies beginning in 2013. People heard me at the Summit graduation and asked, “Why don’t the other schools get the same kind of professional treatment Summit receives?” There’s a reason I get hired for this gig now. I’m good at it, and I’m experienced, which makes me even better than most. In the past, I’ve announced as many as 800 names in a single ceremony. Just me at the podium for up to an hour or longer, with a list, a microphone, and usually a series of cards handed or shown to me so I know who to announce next. It is its own art form, truly different from the “conversational read” of commercials or even the standard read for more conventional live announce copy. And it boils down to three key elements.

Pronunciation. It should go without saying, but you’d be amazed at how many VO talents literally say “I’m terrible with names.” Hopefully they stay away from live announce gigs of any kind, because names are typically involved in those. I happen to be great with names, and you can imagine why. My name has been mispronounced all my life. The true Spanish pronunciation is “PÔN-seh.” I typically tell people it’s “PON-say.” (Rhymes with Beyonce, if that helps.) But I’ve heard and accepted the single-syllable “PONS” all my life, and I only correct someone when they say the truly infuriating “POUNCE.” (Ain’t no U in my name, people.) I literally approach every graduation job in solidarity with all the individuals out there whose names have been mangled throughout their academic careers. I See You. More importantly, I Hear You, and I hear your name, properly pronounced. One of my favorite things when I’m visiting a campus to speak with students and make phonetic notes for myself is that moment when I read a student’s name correctly the first time and get that ecstatic reaction: “You’re the first person who’s ever said my name right!” That is the job here, after all, and it’s not hyperbole to say it is sacred to me. EVERY name matters in this setting, and every announcement needs to be my absolute best.

A quick story: In 1997, I was part of a 3-person team announcing names for Mansfield High School’s graduation. I had the middle of the alphabet, roughly last names G through P. I had also taught a student that year named Bryan Schenck, whose name was not on my list. Nice kid, good student. Quiet; probably never said more than 10 words to me, even though I saw him 90 minutes every day for 18 weeks as his teacher for both government and economics. I think he made an A in both classes, but he drew very little attention to himself. Just making his way through high school. I hope he’s gone onto a happy, successful life, but like most students, I don’t know that he was going to experience a lot of huge recognition in a public setting wherever life took him. So hear comes Bryan Schenck, quiet and nice student, and the person assigned to read his name says “Bryan Shriiieeenk?” when it came time for him to cross the stage. And the look of quiet defeat in his face when he heard his name A) pronounced wrong, and B) stated with a question mark, is burned in my brain forever. And lo, the very next year I was asked to read ALL the names. And every year, every graduation, I think about Bryan Schenck, and I quietly vow that no student will have that same experience.

Have I achieved a 100% success rate on pronunciations? I have friends who insist so, but I know that statistically, it’s impossible. But I also know that I NEVER say a name with a question mark. And if I have messed up, it’s probably on a particular detail in a syllable here or there, yet the name is still fundamentally correct. That’s because I study and practice. And study and practice. And study and practice. I know that for MOST of these young people, this is the most high-profile public recognition they will ever receive. The only time when they’ll hear their name announced and receive applause, specifically for them. And they deserve the dignity of having a professional voiceover talent read their name correctly, with authority and confidence, in this moment. Yeah, high school graduation may be “no big deal,” but this moment matters for every single student.

Consistency. Again, this should probably go without saying, but you might be amazed at how I’ve heard certain non-professionals approach graduation names. They often fall into a pattern that VO coaches might call “sing-song.” Sing-song is typically frowned upon in VO, anyway. Sometimes talents are coached to vary pitch when listing characteristics or places (what you might call the “NBC Rule”), but when the job involves listing people’s names, you maintain a consistent pitch and volume. I recall a promo coaching session I once had with the great Mark Rider where he noted that the athletes named in a promo for the NFL, NBA, MLB, etc., are all considered equally important to the league, so the performance calls for each one to have similar emphasis. The same principle applies to graduations. Sure, the top graduates in the class, along with the officers for the senior class and student body, are likely to receive some type of extra recognition during the ceremony, but when it comes time to cross the stage, we present the __________ High School Class of 2026, then list the names. They are equally important as individuals within that group, and each name needs to receive the same emphasis. All means All, as they say.

Pace. Here’s the characteristic that perhaps doesn’t go without saying, but it’s possibly the most important, not just for how each student is ultimately presented, but how the ceremony itself proceeds. When I’m announcing a name that is considered “difficult” because it’s of a global origin, or it’s got an unusual combination of syllables, or it’s spelled in an unusual manner, or it has an apostrophe that alters the sound, etc., the trick is not simply pronouncing it correctly from a phonetic perspective. The trick lies in saying it correctly and naturally. I have a list with hundreds of names on it, and I’m supposed to say ALL of them like I just know them. It’s not that different from your average commercial read. When you read commercial copy, you’re not supposed to sound like you’re reading. You’re just speaking. When I announce names for graduation, I cannot sound like I’m sounding them out. That means that when I say “Oluwsean Ajeyi Oguntosin” followed by “Fernando Catalón Orellana Hernandez.” I have to sound like I know those names, I mean what I say, and most of all, I don’t fear what’s on the page. Same emphasis, 3 to 5 seconds apart, without hesitation or trepidation. It is an art form, and it is a gift, and I am privileged to have it and to have cultivated it to the professional level I can achieve.

Pace is also possibly the most critical skill that I have for the organizers of each graduation — the administrators who’ve established the logistics for the ceremony itself and the district officials who scheduled and publicized the event, booked the venue, and work with its operators to get the attendees in and out of the building. Here’s what happens too often: the name announcer(s) take way too long between names, the presentation of diplomas takes forever, the audience gets restless and annoyed, and the exit process is delayed, causing the next ceremony to encounter backlogs and bottlenecks. When that happens, no one’s happy during what should be a celebratory occasion. In contrast, when someone with my skills can deliver the proverbial goods in a timely manner, everyone’s happy because every student is appropriately honored and families can move onto their further celebrations.

And therein lies the point of the entire exercise, and this post: Graduation Day is a celebration of a milestone achieved, possibly the most public celebration most of these students will ever experience. You might not consider it a noteworthy achievement, but fact is that it’s a rite of passage that retains its importance in society because it allows us to honor and celebrate our children, and our students, even if it was a foregone conclusion that they will reach this marker in life. Sure, it’s a widely achieved, common moment, statistically speaking, but for each individual student, and for their families, it is still a special moment. As a professional voiceover talent and former educator, I comprehend and respect that moment in a way that few human VO talents, and certainly no AI-generated voice, can. I am here for it, and I will be here for it, for as long as schools place enough of a priority on that moment to invest in it by seeking my abilities and experience. If I have ever announced your name at graduation in the past or have the privilege of announcing it in the future, know this: Your Name Matters.

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Why Are You Yelling?

Every voiceover talent enters the profession from one of several paths. Most of the VO friends I have appear to have started in the world of radio and migrated to VO. Several others have a background in acting and decided to pursue voice acting instead of, or in addition to, stage and on-camera. As for me, I came from the world of public address announcing. I began as “the PA guy,” that voice you hear at a sporting event, band contest, or other occasion – welcoming you; giving you the lowdown on emergency exits and security; imploring you to show good sportsmanship, stay in your seats during a performance, or turn off your flash when taking photos; asking you to stand for the Alma Mater and/or National Anthem; and of course, telling you who’s performing next, who carried the ball or made the tackle, who scored that basket, committed that foul, is at the free throw line, or is batting next. I get to tell you who’s placed where or what the score is before thanking you for coming, inviting you to our next event, and wishing you a safe drive home. I’ve been doing this type of voice work for three decades now, and it is still incredibly fun and rewarding.

It was a little over 20 years ago that, at a band competition, I encountered a parent who worked for an agency in Dallas. She inquired if I was a professional voiceover talent. At the time, I was still a classroom teacher who simply did PA work on the side. She suggested I send her some clips that she could share with her bosses. What a massive moment for me – am I really good enough that someone thinks I do professional voiceover? I scraped together some recording equipment and scripts, did my reads, and sent them off to her. And what a massive wake-up call. “You need coaching.” (No surprise.) They recommended the great Bruce Carey in Dallas. I did a free consultation with him, and he was willing to work with me, but I wasn’t ready at that time to commit to VO training, financially or otherwise. Still, the experience opened my eyes to what I had been doing right up to that point as a “PA guy,” and especially how I might improve. And boy, did I have a long way to go. Obviously, I have since pursued proper VO training and begun a more professional track in the world of voiceover. But even though I’ve expanded my VO interests, genres, and goals, I still remain strongly connected to the world of PA and live announce. While it’s not necessarily the most lucrative work, I still find it every bit as fun and rewarding as ever. I love it. And yet, there’s still something that bothers me about this particular niche of voice work. How can I describe it? Perhaps “the yellers.” “The screamers.” The folks who either don’t understand the nuance of VO and how it can apply to live announce, or the ones who’ve never been trained at all and just think that yelling at the crowd somehow engages them.

On social media, I belong to or follow several PA-related groups, pages, and accounts. So I see lots of other PA announcers who post about their work, including photos of the venues and videos of their work. I’ve also captured lots of video of my own PA work and posted some of it to social media, though not necessarily to these groups. I can only speak for myself, but my primary purpose in recording video or audio of my PA work is really improvement. I don’t simply go back and watch to say, “Wow, I’m great!” I’m intentionally critical of my own performance – ensuring I emphasized the right words and phrases, looking for patterns that are too monotonous or “sing-songy,” that kind of thing. Throughout this self-assessment, I place a priority on two things: First, the clarity of the message. Am I giving the audience the information they need or want? If it’s something like a sponsor read, am I properly billboarding the sponsor’s name and inviting the audience to consider them? Am I saying the name(s) correctly? (This one’s a HUGE one for me – more on that in a future blog post.) Is my phrasing actually leading somewhere, coming across coherently and bringing the copy to life? Second, the tone of the message. My concern here is literal – pitch, volume, timbre, everything about my vocal quality. Just like with a commercial read, there’s an art to it – when to raise or lower the pitch, when to speak louder or softer, when to exteeeeeend a word, phrase, or name, when to clip a word, even when to add a little resonance, vocal fry, or possibly a bit of a growl. Achieve the right blend of clarity and tone, and you have what I would consider audience engagement. You’re adding to the event, but not overshadowing or overwhelming it.

The bottom line is that the PA guy, the announcer, the “voice of god” in VO industry parlance, is NOT the show. The show is on the floor, on the field, on the stage. The live announcer’s job is to frame, explain, or enhance the show. To assist in the presentation of the show in a positive, enjoyable, professional manner, while at the same time being sort of “forgettable” because the audience is ultimately, you know, enjoying the show. And it’s why the best live announcers in the business are names the average person won’t know unless they pay careful attention. Some are well-known because they’ve announced on the biggest stages, like Allen Roach at the Super Bowl or Randy Thomas at The Oscars. Others might have regional notoriety thanks to an association with a sports franchise or university, like Chuck Morgan with the Texas Rangers or Bob Ford with the Houston Astros and the University of Houston. Still others might find themselves associated with niche events, like a couple of friends of mine – Dan Potter, who announces shows for DCI and BOA, among others, and John Pollard, who announces shows for BOA and the UIL State Marching Band Contest. Maybe not everyone is going to love their individual styles – that’s the nature of the VO business in general – but these announcers all have credibility as voice artists in their own right because they fundamentally work to highlight someone else’s efforts, accomplishments, and excellence. That’s the job of the announcer; you’re the voice “behind it all,” as it were. The now-defunct National Association of Sports Public Address Announcers used to call it “the voice above the crowd.” People appreciate the work you do precisely because it does ΝΟΤ interfere with the event or annoy them. If you’re the show, you’re a problem.

Having said all that, you can likely understand my consternation when I come across posts in my Facebook feed, or on Twitter, or sometimes even on LinkedIn, and see PA announcers posting videos of themselves doing things that give me headaches and heartburn. So many of them “eat the mic” in the first place, putting their lips right up against the foam windscreen or the mic itself. Any VO professional knows this is terrible mic technique unless you’re going for a very specific effect. To add to it, these guys are often absolutely screaming into the mic regardless of the situation. To be fair, some situations call for volume from the PA announcer – for instance, I inject a lot of energy into starting lineups when I’m announcing college basketball, although I never max out my volume or risk harming my vocal cords. But I saw a video just the other day where a guy was announcing high school playoff basketball and absolutely screaming players’ names for every made basket, and then he absolutely lost his mind yelling the final score when the game ended. Keep in mind, it was a playoff game at a neutral site, meaning the PA is supposed to be impartial; and what’s more, in a highly contested playoff game with a large crowd, the PA doesn’t need to make any effort at all to pump up the crowd. They’re going to be excited and probably won’t even be listening to you. Even for a big home game, this announcer’s style was over-the-top, and yet pointless at the same time.

This is an all-too-common tale, and not just on social media. Someone posts a video, “here’s me at my local little league baseball game announcing the starting lineups,” featuring this person getting way too intimate with a Shure SM58 and YEEEELLLLLING EVERYOOOOOONE’S NAAAAAAAAMMMMMMEEEE. And of course, the comments are all “Great Job!” “Awesome!” “You’re crushing it!” And I’m looking in horror, saying, “You’re not crushing it, you’re crushing the fans’ ears. Why are you yelling?” There’s maybe 40 people at this game, and the only thing you’re crushing is their enjoyment. This isn’t engaging; it’s annoying. And inappropriate. Then I see another post of a PA announcer who put on a coat, tie, and nice pair of shoes to announce the starting lineups from the floor with a wireless microphone. And of course, his approach to the presentation mostly consisted of yelling. WHY?!? I mean, if your goal is to become an emcee for a college- or pro-level team, by all means, shoot your shot. Work at it. Make it happen. But I’m betting the local private school with a tiny gym that only has 5-8 rows of wooden bleachers doesn’t have a video board and isn’t looking for enhanced game presentation with an emcee and fan activities during timeouts. PA guy dressing up to announce from the floor in this setting just reeks of “making it about you.” And sorry to tell you, buddy, but no one there really cares about you. They care about the game on the floor, and they’re just humoring you and hoping you’ll finish whatever you’re doing real soon. I’m just not sure what some PA announcers are trying to accomplish at times, and I suspect it’s the inherent good nature of others in the group that prevents a lot of ridicule and embarrassment in the comments.

Now I’m sure someone might retort at this point, “Oh, great, here we go. Old guy hates new things and gripes about them. Get off his lawn while he yells at this cloud.” Give me a break. If you think good PA work involves extra volume more than 10% of the time, you are way off the mark. Yelling is neither innovative nor engaging. If you think good PA work involves being seen out there standing next to the players and praised like you’re part of the team, you have issues with ego and insecurity. The PA is part of a team, alright, but it’s a behind-the-scenes team that’s working to make the featured event function likes it’s supposed to. Quality live announce work is all about structure, timing, mood, and knowing your role, then executing your role to fit the presentation. And that role has changed greatly over the years. The old-school work of people like Bob Sheppard of the New York Yankees, who famously used a deliberate, even tone for every name he announced and just about every word he spoke, is all but gone. Sheppard’s style is considered iconic, but that’s primarily because of his longevity (also because it was the Yankees). Drop Bob Sheppard into a modern arena with a present-day game presentation and he is way out of his element. Live events now call for a certain level of enthusiasm. You have to sound like you want to be there, and you’re happy the fans are there, too (even if it’s completely false because the team is suffering through a long losing streak or you’re exhausted after getting to the venue at 6:00am this morning). This is the only place any of us wants to be at this time on this day, period. And that has to come through in your delivery.

Does that call for yelling? A handful of times, maybe. The vast majority of the time, NO. Sure, get boisterous announcing your home lineup. In a big moment, make the announcement big. After a big home win, let the home fans know that score. Bottom Line: Fit The Moment. And be judicious and consistent in how you approach each moment. When you yell too often, it’s way too easy to work your way into a place where that’s just about all you do. And then there’s no differentiation. If the entire game warrants yelling, then none of it really matters, and you’re just annoying in your PA work. So why are you yelling?

Part of me blames the major pro leagues for this trend. You hear screaming PA in way too many pro venues. At NFL venues with a PA guy yelling “It’s THIIIIIIIIIIRD DOOOOOOWWWWN” at every occurrence. At NBA venues where they have a PA guy yelling at the fans literally all game long, imploring them to chant “DE-FENSE” or “LET’S GO [TEAM NAME].” Is this what passes for fan engagement in the 21st century? And we’ve begun to hear this kind of stuff at some college and even high school venues. It drives me insane, mainly because these messages are why video boards were invented and have grown so massive. The video crew can put “Make Noise!,” “DE-FENSE!,” etc., on the board, and the crowd responds. This is how it works at baseball games. Heck, pipe in some drumming audio – the familiar rhythms of “We Will Rock You” are timeless. We don’t need someone eating the mic, screaming at the top of their lungs, causing damage to their own voice, just in the name of “hyping the crowd.” So why are you yelling?

“But we’re creating a rock concert atmosphere. Get with the times, old man.” Look, chief, if I buy tickets to AC/DC, you’d better believe I’m going to expect it to be loud. That’s their bit. If I’m going to any concert in an arena or stadium, I expect loud. But I ask you: Who’s delivering the loud? Is it some nameless PA guy in a coat and tie walking on stage and yelling “GIVE IT UP FOR AC/DC!!!!!” If the actual show on the stage is worth seeing, it needs no introduction. Similarly, if the game on the field is worth seeing, it needs no introduction. And yet, you may be called upon to give it an introduction, so at least make it appropriate. I’ll say it again: The PA announcer’s job is to frame, explain, or enhance the show. So do that. Enhance the game. Enhance the product the audience came to see. ESPECIALLY when the audience consists of a modest number of fans or attendees, many of whom are parents of the players on the field or court. ESPECIALLY when those players are non-professionals, young people who participate for the love of it. Maybe a few might – might – advance to collegiate or professional levels. But right now, it’s just a bunch of literal kids trying to have fun and win today’s game. This is not a rock concert. As a PA announcer, add to what they are doing. Feature them. Promote them. Make them the only thing you want to watch at this moment. And fit the moment. But screaming over the microphone won’t do anything to make them look or feel professional. It will just annoy them and the people who came to watch them. So why are you yelling?

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To Mom

My mother passed away on Saturday, February 7, 2026, at the age of 95. Soon, we will have her funeral and burial, and I’ve been asked to offer a eulogy. So I’ve been crystallizing thoughts about and memories of my mom, trying to develop a proper eulogy that appropriately captures the value and lessons of her life. This blog post is a step toward that end. 

“Fine. We’re fine. I’m fine.”

Those were the words my mother would offer anytime I asked her how she and my dad were doing, even as they aged. Even when I knew one or both of them had some kind of ailment. “We’re fine.” Even after my father passed in 2020, whenever we visited her, she always told us, “I’m fine.” After Alzheimer’s disease rendered her unable to respond verbally, I’m still fairly sure that, had I posed the question, that would’ve been her instinctive thought. “Fine.” That’s because my mother really never complained. She never focused on the negatives so many of us sometimes see. Mom was an unceasingly positive person. She viewed every day as a gift, and more often than not, she had good days. And even if today was not a good day, tomorrow would always be here soon enough. The sun will shine in the east in the morning. There will be new opportunities. This too, shall pass. Whatever didn’t happen just wasn’t meant to be, but what is meant to be will happen. God will provide.

Born on December 16, 1930 in Azusa, California, Jovita Enriqueta Murillo moved with her family as a young girl to El Paso, Texas, settling and growing up in the community of Ysleta, less than 3 miles from the Mexican border. It was there that Jovita attended the same school where her mother managed the cafeteria, Ysleta High School; and she also learned the value of a life in service to others. Jovita graduated from Ysleta High in 1948 and began a brief career in banking. She also enjoyed spending time and traveling with a variety of friends and relatives during her early adulthood, including visits to San Diego to see Abraham Ponce, whom she had met on St. Patrick’s Day in 1948, and who was serving there in the US Navy. Abe and Jovita eventually married on April 24, 1955 at the historic Ysleta mission, Our Lady of Mount Carmel Catholic Church. Upon becoming Mrs. Ponce, Jovita left the bank and began the adult life that she grew to adore.

The Ponces welcomed three girls and two boys into the family in El Paso. In 1971, a new job opportunity for Abe with the Community Services Administration in Dallas brought the family to Arlington, Texas, and the home Jovita lived in and loved for over 48 years — where she saw her children grow up and move into adulthood, and where she also adored and indulged five grandchildren. The house in west-central Arlington was a bit of a haven for her, and she relished her role as wife, mother, grandmother, housekeeper, baker, and chef in that space. Never a complaint. Always a positive outlook. Usually a cookie or snack waiting in the wings. She was fine.

Mom was willing to do basically whatever it took to keep her husband and children happy and comfortable. I can remember back to when I was basically still a toddler and struggled with nightmares – she was Mommy to me back then, and she calmly sat at the end of my bed providing a comforting presence so that I could return to sleep. Her willingness to support went beyond the family. When I was in high school at a summer drum major camp at UTA, my three teammates and I found ourselves with an extended break one late afternoon, but also short on cash for dinner. A quick phone call to Mom, and before long the four of us were enjoying some roast beef and vegetables she happened to have leftover, listening to jazz records on the family stereo. When I was in college, one of my best friends would occasionally ask if we could run to my house before band rehearsal because he thought Mom might have some cookies on-hand. She did, of course. I’m pretty sure she even made us sandwiches more than once.

That’s really who she was. A nurturer. A provider. Doing what you needed or wanted, content herself because you were happy. One of my favorite photos of Mom was taken before I was born, and featured Mom and my four siblings outside the El Paso International Airport when they were picking up my father after a business trip. She looks completely fulfilled in that photo, taking care of her husband and the kids – she seemed born for that role. Mom frequently found herself making the airport drive to pick up Dad over the years. When I was a preteen and a teenager, I was usually her right-hand man on such occasions, helping her navigate to DFW Airport since she sometimes felt uncertain about making the correct exits and turns. It was great bonding time for us — I’m sure I unloaded whatever teenage angst I had, and I know that Mom reassured me in the manner only she could. Mom always offered comfort and optimism, no matter how much anxiety or distress you may feel. It will all be fine.

I’m also sure that Mom prayed for me constantly, as she prayed for all of her family. She used to carry prayer books in her purse at all times, and they were often typically worn out from use. We found ourselves regularly looking for replacements at the local Catholic store. She was particularly fond of St. Jude and sought his intercession regularly. I think it actually went back to her childhood, growing up during the Great Depression. I imagine many people sought intercession from the patron saint of lost causes during those years. Mom prayed novenas to St Jude for many intentions. Her Catholic faith was fundamental to her life. Although she never became heavily involved in parish organizations, she would always contribute something for bake sales and other events. She was steadfast in her faith, and it fueled her optimism and helped her drive away discouragement.

If my mother ever felt frustration, I imagine it came later in her life, when comfort, perseverance, and prayer proved to be not quite enough to stave off circumstances. In 2008, my sister Susan was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer. Naturally, Mom turned to St. Jude. By his grace and the miraculous efforts of doctors at MD Anderson Cancer Center, she was granted an additional 4 years with her daughter. But Susan passed in 2012, and Mom was heartbroken. Yet she soldiered on, taking care of her husband until his enhanced needs and her own physical limitations made it difficult for her to look after him in her customary manner. After Abe suffered a stroke in November 2019 and ultimately passed in January 2020, Mom moved into assisted living. My hope for her was that she could focus on herself at that point, engage in some self-care while gaining a sense of community, especially in the face of an Alzheimer’s diagnosis. But the truth is that without something or someone there to nurture – her home, her family, and especially her husband, Mom found fulfillment difficult to achieve. Yet she still proclaimed “I’m fine.” She appreciated everything the staff did for her, her nice neighbors, and the setting, but she missed her home, her husband, and the life of service she loved. I am at least grateful that, even though she wasn’t always verbally responsive in her final years, she still appeared to recognize visitors easily. Alzheimer’s affected her, but not to the extent where she lost connection with those she loved. Perhaps St. Jude was looking after her. I’m also grateful that her final days in this life were peaceful, not painful, allowing her to pass with serenity.

Most of all, I’m thankful for the values and characteristics that my mother leaves behind. Quiet dignity. Patience. Fortitude. Perspective. Grace. Compassion. Service. We should all try to live those values in her honor. But now that she’s moved on to her heavenly reward, reunited with her beloved husband and daughter — don’t cry for her today. She’s fine.

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To What Is, not What Might Have Been

Unanswered prayers. Twists of fate. Unfulfilled desires. Foiled plans. Typically, phrases like these evoke negative images for us. Our minds conjure thoughts of “the one that got away,” be it a person, a job, an opportunity, or something entirely different. We kind of enjoy torturing ourselves this way because the idea of “what might have been” can make for a very compelling story. There are movies, books, and songs written in lamentation about what was lost. It’s also a common storytelling trope to have the protagonist revisit the missed opportunity years later.

But isn’t that all just imagination? That’s literally what “wishful thinking” is. We concoct our own little story about what could have happened if circumstances had unfolded differently, and it just so happens that >gasp< it would have been SO wonderful, if only… Today I say: Hogwash. Fiddlesticks. Malarkey. Poppycock. Baloney. [Insert your favorite old-timey dismissive phrase here.] Twists of fate are a part of life, whether you believe God has a hand in what happens to you or not. That’s why there’s an adage that “if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.” We’re like kids at Christmas. Make our list of gifts, talk to Santa, hint to our parents, and cross our fingers that we’ll get what we want. And remember, we also make choices all the time, every day. And sometimes a single choice has a significant effect, creating a chain of proverbial dominos that fall to produce our circumstances – sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. Remember, too, that we are also often affected by other people’s choices, so even when we’ve planned and prepared and prayed and chosen wisely – some other choice, some other circumstance, some other event impacts us and throws off our proverbial path. And while it may seem crushing to us in the moment, I’m here to tell you it’s often for the best.

Last week, I wrote about the choice I made with my wife to marry each other 31 years ago. It’s a choice that feeds me positively each day, but a mere 5-6 years earlier, things could have been different. I had dated a young lady for a couple of years going back to high school. We broke up after she left for college, but one summer we reconnected and began to get kind of serious, even discussing whether we might be interested in marrying. Then she went back to school and met someone else – the man who would ultimately become her husband. (They’ve been happily married for 35 years.) After that second breakup, I immersed myself in school, embarking on my first semester since high school where I made straight A’s. I also worked a lot, did some traveling, and eventually met my future wife. Time for a pop culture reference – Ted Lasso: “It may not work out how you think it will or how you hope it does. But believe me, it will all work out, exactly as it’s supposed to.” And for both myself and my old girlfriend from high school, it absolutely did.

Fast forward to 2025, when I finally completed the steps need to retire from K-12 public education. I wrote about how I had actually applied for one more administrative role in a nearby district, and I honestly believe I was on the cusp of getting hired. Then I received the dreaded “we’ve selected a different candidate e-mail.” Curses! Foiled again! Or was I? Ironically, I read that e-mail on my phone in a medical center waiting room while my wife underwent a scan for breast cancer tissue. That test eventually came back positive for “cancerous material” — not really cells, more like particles. So she had to undergo more tests and a surgical procedure, along with follow-up appointments. Guess who was by her side every minute? This guy…without ever having to give a thought to whatever work I was missing or would have to catch up on at my new job. I truly consider it a blessing that I could have zero other concerns during that time. Just her. And shortly after that situation was resolved, along came a part-time opening working in the office at my church parish. So instead of more potentially soul-crushing work in education, I landed in a calmer job that supplements my retirement income while allowing me time and flexibility to continue to build my voiceover career. The plan didn’t go off the rails; it just shifted to some different rails that, in the end, have followed a better path.

See, I’ve already had career plans go off-kilter in the past, and learned hard lessons from trying to “reset the plan.” It actually wasn’t all that long ago – a mere 8 years. I was working in Mansfield ISD at the time, under Dr. Teresa Stegall’s leadership in the Department of Research, Assessment, and Accountability. I’ve spoken fondly of Dr. Stegall’s leadership before. Right around this time in 2018, she retired from public education, receiving a well-deserved fond farewell from many in the district. She had previously informed me that she hoped for me to take over as Director of the department and had involved me in several tasks in preparation for the role. I had worked with central administrators and principals on a variety of projects, and I felt poised to step into the job. Trouble is, in the month after her retirement, the rest of us in the department heard nothing about the future – the Director position was never posted, and we were simply carrying on without a director. We heard rumors, but nothing definitive. Until the last Friday of February 2018, when Dr. Stegall’s supervisor met with us to inform us that the district was not, in fact, replacing her as Director. They were instead dissolving the position, using the money from that salary for other purposes, and placing our department under the supervision of a different Director in central administration. What’s more, we were charged with revising our duties to absorb the tasks of the Director, AND we had to take the department’s budget and devise our plan for the 2018-19 school year. Rug, yanked. Gut, punched. What the heck, I’ll even go there: Nuts, kicked. My plan had been to transition into a promotion, ramp up the VO career a little more, then retire from MISD – the only district where I had ever worked – after 30-35 years, then move into VO full-time. Instead, throughout my 25th year in the district, I found myself a little overworked, a little bitter, and a little bit off the rails.

So when I tried to regain control of the plan by bolting for Birdville ISD in the Spring of 2019, my hope was to get back onto my rails, albeit elsewhere. But it was a brutally failed effort that I’ve talked about briefly before. I don’t really want to relive it or recount details of how awful it was; it was mainly a year I’d like to forget. I suppose the most powerful thing I could say is that, when the COVID pandemic shut us down in March 2020, I was actually a little relieved. For the final six weeks of that year, I didn’t have to make the drive to Haltom City each day for a job that was slowly driving me insane. Work-from-home agreed with me, even if I had to conduct a job search for 2019-20 via Zoom. And even then, after my attempt at restoring the rails to a previous career path flamed out, there was yet another twist of fate that delivered me to Grand Prairie High School, working with a group of people who were mostly doing their absolute best to serve a student population that needed it. I made many lifelong friends there and encountered colleagues who I admired greatly. I learned from them, and I was able to teach them some things while keeping them entertained; and keeping them sane amidst the insanity that TEA and the district expected me to bring them as the testing coordinator. That is, until I finally had the wherewithal to bring my education career to a close and pursue voiceover full-time.

Do I regret my choice to leave Mansfield for Birdville? Not really. Given the events of February 2018, chances are that there might have been more potential gut punches along the way. The precedent had been set, and staying there could have sent a message that I would simply solider on, regardless of the circumstances. I’ve said before – central administration in education can be a little soul-crushing. That’s the nature of it. One of my colleagues in that department had a Ph.D in Statistics, and there’s a good chance that he might’ve been selected over me for the Director position. A choice to remain in MISD could have definitely produced some other twist, possibly worse than what I had already experienced. That year of misery in Birdville was at least instructive. I learned from it, as we often do from a painful experience. And just like Ted Lasso said, it did work out exactly as it was supposed to. I’ll take the exploits that I had and the friends I made at GP, thank you very much. And I’ll take the time supporting my wife instead of another central office job, as well. I have landed where I wanted to be – escaped from what had become an increasingly insane and stressful world of education, engaged more fully in the world of voiceover, and most of all, available more completely to my wife and family. Unanswered prayers? No, just different answers than I expected. Foiled plans? No, just slightly altered plans. Unfulfilled desires? No, As the great Sheryl Crow sang: “It’s not getting what you want, it’s wanting what you’ve got.” As it turns out, what I’ve got IS what I wanted. The path to get there is just not what I envisioned at one time.

The path can vary for many of us. I have two friends who have had similar experiences recently, where their intended professional plans have been altered by circumstances. One of them is currently teaching in New Mexico and had actually interviewed for the same position in the DFW area twice, finishing second both times. His current situation in NM isn’t the greatest, but it’s also not the worst, so his goal is simply to carve a different path back to DFW, and possibly back to New Mexico another time. Meanwhile, one of my friends from GPHS was passed over for that campus’ Principal position when it was open in 2024. She’s having to toil at another campus – again, not the greatest job – but her personal life has thrived even though she’s not where she wants to be professionally, and those personal developments wouldn’t have been possible at all if she was Principal of a 6A high school. There’s still plenty of time for her to achieve her professional goals. Again, it’s just going to be a different path, and there’s nothing wrong with that. We all live and learn along the way, carrying whatever knowledge, experience, and growth that are gained.

In the world of voiceover, “rejection” is a natural part of the process, a way of life. My friends in the VO world are used to hearing “No” in the face of grand plans. Really, they’re prepared for “No” after every audition. Except that it’s not necessarily “No,” it’s just “Not Right Now,” as they say. Just because someone else is booked for a given VO job doesn’t mean you weren’t good, or worthy; it just means that whoever made the casting decision selected a different voice for this project, for a reason that could be very specific or very ambiguous. And that’s really the point of this post: Unanswered prayers, unfulfilled desires, twists of fate, foiled plans don’t necessarily reflect on us as individuals. They don’t mean we’re not valuable as people, or professionals, or artists. They just mean that this isn’t the right match, the right time or place, the right circumstances. Not Right Now. But we keep at it, working toward what we seek. Enjoy the journey. Learn what you can. Value the good things and the good times. Seek, and you will find. Right Now will eventually come along, and What Is will outshine What Might Have Been.